


Running With Scissors

by Andartha, Weirdlet



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: A/B/O, Abuse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, M/M, Neil Hargrove is his own damn content warning, Omega Verse, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, alpha!Steve Harrington, long in progress and gleefully indulgent, omega!Billy Hargrove, strict musical timeline accuracy not guaranteed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-22 00:37:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13155435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andartha/pseuds/Andartha, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weirdlet/pseuds/Weirdlet
Summary: When domestic violence erupts in a seemingly sleepy Hawkins home, all the cards get re-shuffled as Steve Harrington finds himself accidentally accompanying Hopper on that call.Finding Billy Hargrove, Trouble with a capital T, possible psycho, and world's worst omega, in desperate need of every bit of help he can get, unexpectedly sees Steve taking on the role of Jack of Hearts to Billy's Ace of Spades.As Billy moves into Steve's home, how will the two of them play the strange hand they've been dealt?





	1. Chapter 1

Max was _late_.

The bus only ran once an hour and it had spilled it's passengers onto the sidewalk in front of the bus depot like a slot machine might spit out coins once somebody hit jackpot.

 Just his luck that it seemed like this game had left _him_ empty-handed.

Running his hands through his hair with fingers that tremble ever so slightly, Billy let his eyes roam over the thinning crowd once more, cursing his stupid bitch of a step-sister under his breath, cursing the fact that the only shop selling replacement parts for skateboards was two towns over, cursing because he'd been in detention today and hadn't been able to take her, hating Susan for allowing Max to go on her own and quietly praying for Lady Luck to give him a fucking break.

 _Fuck. She_ should _have been on this one. Let's hope she's on the next one. Time's short._

Christmas had been quiet enough- it’d almost felt like one of those kitsch-y Hallmarks cards.  Around New Year’s, his dad had started asking him about his plans for the future, frowning each time he didn't like the answer, which was often.

Yesterday, Neil had snapped at him for not closing the door quietly enough.

 _It’s headed for a big one_ , he thinks, Yellowstone and the San Andreas, and he runs the numbers in his head again, the little network of _whys_ and _hows_ that add up to _it’s not my fucking_ fault-

Doesn’t matter.  If he can just get Max home fast enough- nevermind her shrieking when he blows through the speed limit or the stop-signs in this lonely nothing-town- scare her good, to keep this shit from _happening_ again, can she ever _learn_ -?

Fuck.  His heart is beating fast in his throat, and he glares out into the bus station again, fingers drumming angrily against his thigh.

An hour later, right on schedule, the bus pulls up at the bus stop, once more spilling forth people. There’s a bit of jostling, but despite this and the heavy bag she carries, Max manages to weave through the crowd fairly quickly, already on the look-out for Billy’s blue Camaro.

It doesn’t take her long to find it. Megadeth’s “Symphony of Destruction” is blaring from the car.  With Billy leaning against the side, cigarette in mouth, eyes hooded, he looks almost sleepy, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that sends a sick shiver down Max’s spine. People are looking over at him and frowning, so she hoists her bag higher on her shoulders, knuckles gone white, and speeds up her steps so they’re short of running.

The door’s unlocked, she pulls it open, slides in with that bag of hers clutched tight, like that’s the most important thing.

“Get in,” he says, short and sharp, already gripping the shaft and shifting into gear faster than you could blink.  Maxine barely has time to shut the door, before they’re taking off at a breakneck pace, sending leaves and loose papers flying in their wake.

He glances over, sees her hunch her shoulders, the knuckles of her balled up hands going white. She’s afraid- _good_ , fucking _great_ .  It’s not going to save _him_ any shit, and goddamnit-

“You were _late_ ,” he snaps.

For a short moment, she wilts even more in her seat, becoming small and still.

 _Good_ , he growls inwardly, flooring it and then swerving wildly to avoid collision with some old lady’s Volkswagen Beetle puttering along the right side of the lane.

The music fills the car with screaming guitar riffs and pounding drums, drowning out the rapid patter of his heart and _shit_ he needs a smoke, but he used up his last pack while waiting for the little brat, his carefully saved cache turned into a small mountain of stubs on the sidewalk.

His eyes flick ahead, gauge the traffic at the next crossroads, _that Chevy on the right is never going to make it there before I do, no cops in sight, thank fuck this place is flat like a pancake so you can see_ and he runs the red light, unwilling to wait the five minutes it would cost him if he bothered with the traffic rules.

Beside him, Max hisses so sharply it can be heard over Axl Rose wailing about Paradise City, and from the corner of his eye, Billy catches her sitting up straight like some goddamn valkyrie headed into battle.

“That light was RED- slow DOWN, you asshole!”

He hits the wheel with the flat of his hand, snarls so darkly one might think _he_ were the alpha here and not her.

“Shut UP, you little _dumbass_ . You were _late_. You know better than to be FUCKING LATE.”

“There was an old man who had fallen down some steps. He needed…”

“I don’t fucking CARE, Max, I don’t FUCKING care. You GET THERE on fucking _TIME_.”

He turns a corner so fast, the back of the Camaro starts to slide and Max squeaks, bracing herself against the seat and the dashboard, face pale as a sheet.

.....

_Finally._

The house is in sight.  

Susan had been about to cook dinner when he’d left.  If he got lucky, she was making something fancy and had only just finished, and the food would be on the table still warm. Before Susan, Neil hadn’t much cared when and if Billy ate, but these days, it was all “family dinners are important”.

When they pull up into the driveway, Billy chokes off the motor and yanks Maxine’s bag from beneath her seat where she dropped it, _no time to lose, she'd just dither around,_ making her yelp as it bumps sharply into her calves, then gets out and slams his door shut, banging on the roof so his dumbass sister will _hurry the fuck up_.

He shoves her pack at her and she takes it, stumbling, and they march up to the front door at a sharp clip, him first, her trailing slightly behind, glaring at his back, _listen kid, I SO DO NOT CARE about your precious feelings right now,_ and his hand fumbles, he almost drops the keys when they’re reaching the door.  

Christ, he could use a cigarette.

Huffing slightly, he unlocks the door, pushes it open and slips inside, eyes darting from the small hallway through to the living room.  Everything is empty, everything is fucking _quiet_.  Stiffly, he goes on, Max still behind him, her obnoxious mouth shut for once.

The faint scent of meatloaf and potatoes hangs in the air, but it’s stale and cold.  Almost dragging his feet, Billy walks on, heads for the dining room.

The table is set, their cheap china meticulously laid out as if for a banquet, dried out meatloaf sitting on a serving platter besides a bowl of boiled potatoes that are no longer steaming.

Neil is sitting at the table, eyes hard as flint.

“I see you finally decided to grace us with your presence, Billy. Too bad Susan had to leave. She had a shift tonight, but it seems you forgot that.”

 _There’s going to be no good answer_.  But Max is here, safe and sound, and- maybe.  Maybe that’s enough to get away with a barking lecture, save the worst of it for later.  If it’s spaced out over a little ways, he’ll still be looking over his shoulder for a while, but-

“I picked up Max- she’s home safe.”   _Don’t snap back, don’t bitch about_ ‘responsibility’-

And isn’t that what’s important?  Daddy’s little girl, his wanted alpha child, escorted back under his roof. Despite her best efforts.

Billy would glare at her, but he’s trying to play it cool.  Next up, it’ll be the stare- _look at me when I’m speaking to you_ \- and hoping desperately that it counts for something.

Neil stands up, the chair grating on the floor, nails on a chalkboard as it’s pushed back, making Billy wince.

Max watches their dad takes a step, reaching for something that’s been leaning against the table, right beside the chair, up to now concealed by the long, pristine white table-cloth.  Billy’s face drains of all color, stilling like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a snake, as her stepfather takes another step towards his son, sharply rapping the tip of the walking stick he pulled out against the floor.

Her mom told her that Neil needed it to support him after he returned from Vietnam, the german oak sturdy enough to take the weight his injured knee couldn’t.  But as long she’s known him, it’s been sitting in the corner of the living room besides Neil’s lounge chair or hung up on the wall.

_Did he hurt his knee again?_

She’s still looking at the stick, brow furrowed, when Neil shouts at Billy, the sharp bark making her jump.

“You’re LATE, son. Don’t you _dare_ give me lip about it.“

“Dad, I’m sorry. I...look...her bus was late.”

“NO EXCUSES. Or are you trying to weasel out of your responsibility to take care of your sister again, like the sick, spineless failure you are?” Neil says, starting to get red.

“Sir...no, sir, I’m not, I just couldn’t…”

Billy’s voice is shaking badly and so quiet Max can hardly make out the words.  

She’s never _seen_ him like this, looking _small_ in front of the towering alpha closing in on him.  Sure, Max has heard Neil shout at him before sometimes- late at night, the sound muffled through the walls and the words indistinguishable.  She’d pull a cushion down over her ears and try to sleep, muttering to herself that those two assholes deserved each other.  With the way Billy kept acting out, skipping class and getting into fights, or coming home drunk from parties?  He had those lectures coming for sure.

Hell, with the way he’d been giving her friends grief before Christmas, he should have had a lot _more_ coming.  But then, Billy being a bullying jackass was not really something Neil cared about.

_It’s not fair blaming him for me missing the bus though. And jeez, one missed family dinner isn’t such a big deal, is it? It’s not like there’s friendly family chit-chat or any talking at all while we eat anyway._

She frowns, eyes flicking between Billy and her step-dad, but despite this, she almost misses the moment when Neil moves quick as a striking rattle-snake, grabbing Billy by the collar of his leather jacket and slamming him against the wall so hard that the pictures hung there rattle.

“Listen UP, son.” His voice drops to an almost whisper, the sound abruptly and unexpectedly twisting in Max’s gut like rotting vines, “I’ve put up with your fuck-ups for a _very_ long time, and I’m _resigned_ to you never ever amounting to much, but the very least you can do while you put your feet under my table is make yourself useful and _take care of your sister._ ”

“Please, dad… I…”

The young omega doesn’t even get to finish stammering the sentence, doesn’t get to beg for forgiveness or even just leniency before Neil pulls him in, slams him back into the wall a second time, pain flashing over Billy’s face as his head hits the wall with a dull thud as Max stands there, frozen in place, eyes wide.

“You know how important family dinners are in this house, you knew Susan had the evening shift today and would have to leave early.”

“I’m sorry dad, I’m sorry, I forgot to remember the shift, I thought…”

“And yet _you weren’t here_ when Susan set the food on the table. Something that _wouldn’t have happened_ if you had driven your sister and she didn’t have to take the bus. But you couldn’t, because YOU had _detention_.”

“I’m sorry,” Billy gasps out again, and holy shit, it’s gone beyond the point where that’s going to do anything.  There’s no winning, there’s no arguing- _this is going to happen_ , right here, right now, and it’s a blind white panic that freezes him.

Max is still there.  She’s still _here_ oh god _run_ stupid girl-

“I give you lesson, after lesson, but you just _don’t- seem- to learn_ -”

The words are punctuated by a sharp wave of that walking stick’s head on every beat, pointing into his face like a microphone, and _Holy Mary, mama_ please _-_  Neil still has him collared.  Stuck between the wall and an implacable force, hot tears running down his face.

He’s ripped from the wall, thrown down, has to catch himself against the floor.

His palms smart and there’s a sharp jab of pain as his knees hit the vinyl, the smooth plastic made to look like patterned antique tiles in an attempt to be classy and only ending up looking fake and cheap. As he barely manages to balance himself on all fours, his eyes land on the tips of Max’s shoes, glued to the floor just a few steps away, and with the manic kind of detachment that comes from wanting to be _anywhere_ but _here_ , he notes how their bright color doesn’t match the dining-room’s pseudo-elegant décor at all.

Then Neil’s foot catches him in the mid-section, lifts him a few inches clear off the ground, and drives the air from his lungs with a thump and a dull whoosh, leaving him with nothing to scream with as a pointed ache slices all the way up to his chest.

He comes down hard, gasping for breath like a landed fish, jerkily trying to _move_ , to curl up into a ball, get his arms over his head, because _fuck, dad brought out his walking stick, shoulda run when I saw that, but I stupidly thought he wasn’t gonna use it, he hasn’t_ used _it since the first time he brought Susan home, not like this, shoulda_ known better _…_

The first blow sends him straight back to eighth grade.  

_The last time he’d pissed the old man off this bad, the round of straight D’s had been a calculated, but foolhardy risk to see how far he can push it. His failure at school had been held carefully over his head for weeks, the idea being that if he could turn it around- if he could just pull the nose up- all might be forgiven.  Or at least, things would just be at their normal level of suck._

_Nope._

_The day he comes home, on what should be the first day of vacation- the hand locked tight around his arm, he’s pulled along, and the stick sings_ white _against his back, his legs, his arms around his head-_

_He still has the cast when he goes back.  The rest of the marks have faded by then, yellow under his clothes._

_“You’ll try harder, this semester.  Won’t you?”_

There’s a scream stuck at the bottom of his heart, and it tears at him, makes his ribs heave until at last, he finally pulls breath again with a choked rattle, enough to let him curl his arms protectively around his head. Still, with a lisping susurrus, the wood finds an opening in his cover, right between his shoulder and the crook of his arm. The grazing blow to his head is bad enough that for a few seconds, everything goes dark and when he comes to, his skull throbs like a rotting cantaloupe about to burst.  
  
The wailing cry of “NO! NO, STOP! It wasn’t his fault!” registers at a distance, as if through a wall of cotton.  His head is spinning, and the sensation of _witness_ is _alien_ -

 _She’s never seen this before._  He’s never been _seen_ like this before.

Neil’s stick burns across his denim-padded ribs again, then there’s a skinny little kid over him, between his body and the next pounding blow.

What-

_No._

Nononononono-

Neil’s not calculating anymore, he’s in full Beatdown mode- he’s only been this bad a few times in Billy’s life.  He starts to uncurl, gasping at the bloom of pain, and hears the _smack_ of wood on flesh.

Maxine’s smaller frame _jerks_ above him and the sobbing cry she gives is already thick with tears, _you think you won’t cry, promise yourself you won’t, but the tears come so quickly and change nothing at all,_ and then her weight above him just _disappears_ , like a fish yanked out of the water by a hook at the end of a line.

There’s a bump, the table beside him shudders as something tumbles against it, and a glass lands on the floor somewhere on the other side with a popping crash, the shards skittering brightly all over the floor.  
  
There’s another _smack_ , the sound meatier and more sickening, flesh on flesh, Max’s cry right after, thin and surprised.

_Move._

The old man is snarling like a bloodhound in a dogfight- “Young lady.  You _will._  Learn.   _Respect,_ ” and Billy manages to get his elbows under him, trembling all the way to his knees from the effort even as his body flashes and blossoms with agony in a sick parody of fireworks.

_Move, Hargrove, for the love of Jesus, fuck….MOVE._

Max makes a sound, somewhere between a sob and a whimper, and _you always think you can stand up to it until you really do._

Billy tries to get up and staggers, panting as he comes back to his knees, fighting the moan of pain, or the contents of his stomach, that want to echo up from him.

 _Hey, didn’t you used to_ want _this?  See her learn what it’s really like, catch some of the shit she brought down on you?_

 _Not like this, oh God.  Not the fucking_ stick-

“Hey,” Billy croaks, turning burning eyes on the old man.  “Hey- _bastard!_ ” he yells, harsh and strangled, trying to shout past the pain in his ribs.

“Ain’t learned my lesson yet,” he spits, crawling up, knowing he’s going to catch worse for this, wondering if he’s going to catch that walking stick across the head, and if it’ll just break his nose or pulp his temple this time.

“You…..”

Neil’s hand is fisted in Max’s hair, right at the nape of her neck, and he has her pushed down across the edge of the table, the long side where there was room to spare for guests they never had. With the deceptively slow-looking speed of a snapping alligator, the old man yanks Max back upright, only to shove her away again, making her stumble and fall into the living room beyond.

Billy clenches his jaw tight, bites his tongue, no matter how badly he wants to tell her to _run_ and keeps his eyes fixed on his father instead.

He doesn’t know where he finds the breath or the nerve to hiss out “Go get yourself _fucked_ , you asshole,” but it must have been somewhere dark, because his insides fill with a black, watery dread that rises like a tide ready to drown him and coats his heart in ice.

The alpha goes real quiet, still, save how he shifts his grip on the walking stick with a fluid, practiced motion so the hooked end is in front.

_Longer reach, more edges to tear you up with._

_Always did say he’d kill me if I went too far._

In the dining room, a soft, scrabbling sound can be heard, and despite himself, Billy finds himself grinning, teeth bared sharply despite tasting blood, something Susan would certainly frown at again, _her freak of a step-son mimicking alphas again. Not knowing when to submit._

Gripping the seat of a chair, the chintz-covered surface plush and solid beneath his hand, Billy pushes himself upward with a shout, his feet almost slipping away from him twice as he pushes himself to stand.

_I’m going to kill him.  I’m either going to die here, or I’m going to have to kill him._

_I’m probably going to die._

It’s not a loud thought.  In fact, it’s barely there, under the blanch of terror and the wash of adrenaline frying the ends of his nerves.  Billy can hardly pay it the attention it deserves, doesn’t have time to argue with himself.

He’s done far fucking dumber things, for far less reason.

The next strike comes down hard on his arm, not his head, but it’s a near thing.  It’s another bright burst of pain, another hot tang of blood in his mouth as he bites his tongue.  He pushes past it, goes for a left hook, overshoots- Billy’s already up a knock on the head, this is no easy pushover getting shoved down to make him feel big.  This is a hard-eyed man who’s ruled his life like a king in a cold stone castle.

And this old man has _fought_ , as he’s so fond of saying.

Time stretches like tar, black and burning, with glass and furniture shattering becoming a discordant tune in the background that mingles with the dull thumps, pants and muffled screams.

Billy doesn’t even remember how he ended up on the floor again, all he knows is that with the rushing of blood in his ears, louder than booming surf, he didn’t even hear the sound his ribs made as they broke when Neil kicked him again.

He tries to get away, fingers scrabbling ineffectually against the vinyl, but _he can’t breathe_.

All that comes out are flat wheezing sounds like the death-rattle of small, furry animal and he’s not sure if it’s because of his ribs hurting like someone drove a knife in his chest, or if it’s because he knows he will die.

Instinct is less easily resigned than thought though, and even as the glass shards scattered on the floor like so many fake diamonds slice up his hands, his legs still seek purchase on the blood-slick floor. He struggles, tries to crawl for the door, a faint pale line on the horizon, but his dad is having none of it. The blows just keep raining down, and between one blink and the next, Billy has a hard time remembering which way the door _was_.

………

Max takes the moment she’s given, and _runs_ when Neil turns back to Billy.  Runs out the door, across the lawn with it’s damp, slushy grass, the snow half-melted away.  Runs and skids and runs again, shoes catching on the pavement of the sidewalk as she heads for the nearest neighbor’s door, and pounds on it like her life depends on it.

It might.  It might not be _hers_ that does.

Neil’s never done that before.  Never _hit_ her before, never hit _Billy_ before, though they’d yelled and circled like angry dogs- It doesn’t matter how big a dick Billy is, _he’s gonna kill him_ , and she can’t, she can’t let it-

The door opens under her thundering fist, the skin bruising from beating on the wood, and she’s half-way inside before the surprised older man can finish asking “Can I help you-?!”

“I have to use your phone!  He’s _hitting_ him!”

The slightly querulous "Who's hitting who, child?" is something already faded in the background as she hones in on the phone sitting on a little yellow formica table in the cramped living room.  
  
With shaking fingers, almost dropping the receiver as she picks it up, she dials the number to Sheriff Hopper's department, jumping slightly when the call gets picked up on the first ring.  
  
"Max Mayfield, Coopers Lane #488. My father....my father, he's killing my brother.  Please… help."  
  
The secretary's voice on the other end is smoky and slightly scratchy, like a blues record from the 20s, the ones her uncle liked to listen to before he fell ill, and Max manages to answer the few short and precise questions the lady asks her with her voice only trembling a little, even if her throat is so tight, it feels like someone choking her.  
  
Even as the call is still ongoing, the lady takes a short break to notify Sheriff Hopper over the radio, and Max's eyes sting when his deep, rough voice comes through, crackling and indistinct.  
  
She's told to wait inside the neighbours' house until she hears the sirens and then to come to the porch, wait for Hopper to handle the situation, pick her up after.  
  
The call ends and it takes her two tries to hang up, the cradle looking kind of blurry as she looks at it.  
  
Her knees shake like badly set Jello and she just lets herself slide down onto the slightly dusty, overstuffed sofa beside the telephone table.  
  
It takes her a moment to realize that the neighbour is still standing beside the now closed front door, frowning disapprovingly as if she had just called the president an idiot.  
  
"Such a fuss, young lady. And all just because your father's lost his patience with that boy's nonsense again. A wild doe like that needs some discipline, or they'll go right on thinkin' that they're bucks."  
  
She looks at him like he’s _crazy_.

“He’s _killing him_ \- he’s hitting him with this awful stick, like he wants to break him open!”  The hell is _wrong_ with people?

Her brother’s an asshole.  And a weirdo, given how he pumps iron like an alpha but still paints his lips and wears jewelry like an omega.  Sometimes she wants him to take a long walk off a short pier, but that _doesn’t_ mean she wants to watch him get split open like a piñata.

Her hand finds her arm, the smarting bruise left from the light touch of that damn stick warm under her palm, and she shivers.

Neil was _angry_ .  And it had only ever been aimed at Billy before, like he was the source of all problems, or at the news or the neighbors or the government.  He’d given her some low-voiced lectures a few times about discipline and acting appropriately, like he was supposed to be the dad she’d never had, but he’d never _hit_ her.  It never even seemed like that was a _thing_ she’d have to worry about.

And now he’s still over there, still _hitting_ Billy…

The thought of him lying still under endless thumps of the stick, like hitting the buttons on a game long after the screen’s gone blank in the cabinet, makes her feel sick.  It dredges up a low, strangled cry from deep inside of her chest, and the tears are running hot and harsh down her face all unbidden.


	2. Chapter 2

The siren is muffled inside the police car, but the wailing sound just above their heads does not make it easier to sort your thoughts when you’re still so surprised by the turn of events, it feels like getting whiplash.

That morning, Steve had caught a rumour about a strange creature being sighted near the sewer drains of the old, abandoned brewery just outside town, and he and Hopper had met up right after in order to check it out.  They’d been doing that kind of thing a lot lately.

It had started around Christmas, at a party where a drunk classmate had come back inside after puking all over Mrs. Dalbert’s frozen petunias, gibbering with fear and claiming that one of the wilted plants had _moved_ and snagged their ankle, trying to trip them.

Steve had gone outside to check and only managed to get his shoes dirty. Then he’d left the party early and gone home, went to bed, tried to sleep, and only found himself tossing and turning until four in the morning, when he finally drifted off.  Only to wake up screaming and bathed in sweat a few minutes later.   
  
Dawn had found him in front of the police station, two coffees in hand, waiting for Hopper to show up for his shift. The fact that the coffee was still warm when Jim showed up was exhibit A for the older alpha not being able to sleep well these days either. They’d checked out the petunias again, Hopper adding his forensic experience and Steve his ability to wield a shovel, and they made _sure_ that it wasn’t a vine of the Upside Down that they’d missed. _It’s not paranoia if they’re actually out to get you._

Dumb or not, they’d both slept easier that night.

Since then, the two of them have been adding their own kind of patrol to Hopper’s regular ones, making trips together investigating anything odd happening in and around Hawkins. Steve always brought the coffee. The stuff from the fancy café on his way to the police station was better than the swill Hopper had at his office.  
  
Well.  The ‘mysterious creature’ at the old brewery- at least for today- had turned out to be a racoon foraging for food, an old injury to the front paw making its’ gait look odd and wrong.  No harm, no foul- not even a rabies shot, because both parties had taken a look at each other and hissed and very smartly run away.

They’d opened the rusty gate to the building when they came in, so Steve was busy locking it back up as Jim took a call over the radio, bellowing for Steve to hurry right after.

The moment Steve dropped into the passenger seat, Hopper floored it, sending up a spray of ice and gravel.

“Got a DV, domestic violence, Cooper’s Lane #488.”

The bottom of Steve’s stomach drops out at that terse remark, followed by a wave of icy-hot rage that makes his blood boil and colors his vision an ugly red.  
  
“Max. _That is Max’s house_. I swear, if that bastard has as much as touched a hair on her head, I’m gonna…”

“Max was the one calling. Looks like Neil Hargrove decided to take a cane to his son’s hide and then forgot that you’re not supposed to try and kill your kids.”

_Billy._

Hargrove had been quiet since the- incident, the night with the gate and the demodogs and the _beating_ Steve had taken. Whatever had happened after, between him losing consciousness and Max coming home, had gotten him to back the hell off of the kids, showing up to chauffeur Max to and from their gatherings but otherwise keeping his distance.  At school he still watched and waited, hip-checked and played hard in gym, but otherwise?  Barely a peep, aside from that laundry mix-up.

Steve had supposed that was as close as he was ever going to get to an apology from him, and had kept his peace.

“Max is- a tough kid.  I don’t think she’d be in hysterics over something small.”  The little wince-reaction- _maybe he deserves it_ \- Steve squashes with a will.  Max _wouldn’t_ call the cops over nothing, and if it’s more than nothing… even an asshole doesn’t deserve to get hit in his own home.

No one deserves that.

“You want me to stay in here?”  For real police-work, it’s best if Steve isn’t ‘officially’ there- he only comes along when they think there might be a chance of _their_ particular brand of weirdness going on.  But sometimes- shit like this goes down.  Official emergencies, even in a sleepy little town like Hawkins, and when Hopper’s his ride...

Hopper shifts gears, scowling, and then huffs.

“I’ll have to take Neil Hargrove in. And I’ll have to get a statement from Max, so I’ll take her with me too. Deputies’re dealing with a fender-bender on the other side of town, and the way Max described what was going on, I called an ambulance- because it sounds like the Hargrove boy will need one. That or a hearse.”

The older alpha overtakes a few cars, squeezed to the curb in the slow traffic, making room for the howling police car, and then shoots Steve a glance, jaw set.

“Think you can stay with the boy, ride with him in the ambulance? I don’t like leaving people alone in situations like this- especially not young omegas with a certain reputation. Folks can be real shitheads sometimes, even with kids.”

“-I can. I can do that,” Steve says, swallowing.  This?  This sounds _bad_.  

It’s a tense and terrifying few minutes between now and when they get to the Hargrove house.  From the outside, it’s as if nothing is wrong, nothing is on fire, no smashed doors or trails of blood. 

“Should I get Max?  Or-”

“Wait here.  I’ll handle the situation- you can help with the aftermath.”  Demogorgons are a matter of no choice- this is a time and place with unpredictable elements but an established protocol.  The elder Hargrove could be armed, and it’s Hopper’s place to face that down.

The radio is on, Hopper’s got his- Steve’s hands are white-knuckled on the dash as he waits, listening.

Jim walks up to the door, follows the procedure- knocks, waits for response, pushes in.  The door’s not locked.

First thing in he hears is the dull noise of something hard hitting flesh and a pained whimper.

_Shit. But if the kid’s still making noises, then he’s still alive._

He draws his gun, because damn if he doesn’t have a scar from where, during his third call to a DV, he got between a mild-mannered looking accountant with a knife and the girlfriend the guy was trying to slice up and _you never know with these fuckers._

He calls out, announces his presence and that he’s coming in.

Steps into the spotlessly clean living room from where he can see the dining area, where the first impression of a nice place straight out of “Homes & Gardens” is marred by broken glass and smears of red on the floor. And by a boy in denim and a leather jacket, blond hair matted with blood, moving feebly on the floor, a broken shape at the feet of  the man standing over him.

_Head injury and God knows what else. But he’s still moving._

In the distance, the wailing of the ambulance can be heard.

“Drop that cane, step away from the kid and on your knees. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Hargrove does as ordered, but boy, if looks could kill, Hopper would be ten feet under already. _Too bad, asshole. Faced things more dangerous than you and they didn’t come out on top either._

Face stony, he reaches for his handcuffs, _gotta secure the area first before I see how the boy is doing._ He makes sure Hargrove is in no position to pull any funny business and then the paramedics are already knocking on the door and he gives them the all-clear to come in.

Hopper does his level best to ignore the man’s face as the paramedics come in. He looks- _annoyed_ , like this is no more than a deep inconvenience that offends him, and Hopper is _not looking_ , because if he does he’s going to be a whole lot more likely to want to give the older Hargrove a taste of his own medicine.

_I’ve got him now.  He’s cuffed and controlled- concentrate on the kid._

He’d only heard a little bit about the Hargrove kid, outside of Steve’s encounter with him, but most of it had been trouble- driving too fast, yelling in public places, and of course the parties the highschool teens threw when they thought no one was looking had a new king.  

Then, there’d been the incident at the Byers’ house. The kids had tried to minimize the impact of the fight that had started when Billy had come by and found his sister in a houseful of crazy- but Steve’s face afterward had spoken for itself.  The only reason Hopper hadn’t gone for an arrest for assault and battery had been the much higher priority of keeping everyone safe in the aftermath of the gate, and the fact that technically, Steve _could_ have been charged with abducting a minor.

But right now- the boy looks crumpled, and what little he can see past denim and hair looks bruised and battered.  There’s blood among the glass shards of a lamp, and if he lets his eye catch and follow the trail…

_Kid was trying to get out.  Crawl towards the door._

His grip on the back of Neil’s coat tightens.

“You had best hope that kid comes out alright,” Jim says, low and flat and snarling.

The man just scoffs, a short, flat sound, but he doesn’t resist when Jim frog-marches him out of the place while reading him his rights.

Behind him, the paramedics are working on the kid and it’s best to give them some space. There’s more than one way to help the boy. Treating his injuries is one, making an effort to shield him from the piece of shit Jim just arrested is another.

The moment they step outside, Harrington, who must have kept a close eye on the house, gets out of the car, goes around and opens the door to the back so Jim can push the older Hargrove inside, smoothing over a gap in the arrest process usually filled by one of Jim’s deputies. _Kid’s picked up a lot of procedure over the last few weeks._   
  
There’s a small but satisfying bang as the car-door slams shut behind the cuffed man and for a moment, Hopper wishes the car came with a wall between the backseat and the front seats, because Max will have to ride in the passenger seat, with the guy who she just witnessed making a fair attempt at killing her brother breathing down her neck.

 _Need her statement, and I could take it at the hospital later, but the kid shouldn’t have to ride in the ambulance_ , _get a front-row seat seeing her step-dad’s handywork and maybe deal with people being pricks too. Can’t leave her here by herself either. Nothing for it. Damn._   
  
He sighs, turns back to the house. The two paramedics worked swiftly and are already coming out, the kid lying on a stretcher carried between then.   
  
Waving at Steve to follow him, he jogs up to them as they lift the stretcher into the ambulance and climb in right after. Hopper turns to the elder of the two, nods at him through the open back-door of the ambulance. The grey-haired beta nods back at the sheriff without stopping his work, moving with swift efficiency as he sets up his monitoring equipment and other supplies around their patient.

“How bad?”

“Concussion, broken ribs, something’s up with his breathing. Bruises, lacerations, possible internal bleeding.”  
  
“Look, I’d hate to let the kid ride alone. Normally, I’d send a deputy along, but they’re handling business elsewhere. Got lucky though, one of the kids’ friends is here. Do me a favour, take him along. He’s solid, won’t get in the way, and having a friend there is gonna be good for the kid.”

The beta gives Steve a short glance, then jerks his head towards one of the two seats flanking the stretcher.

“Sit there.”

“Tell Max I’m with him, okay?” Steve calls out over his shoulder, hopping up into the back of the vehicle.  “Joyce will probably be able to come get her when this is over.”  Tell her she’s been brave, that this isn’t her fault- though Hopper is good for that too.  He’s just having to work in cop-mode now, and that’s not always comforting.

A nod, and he’s settling into the hard plastic seat, unable to avoid casting his eyes over Billy’s prone shape any longer.  The paramedics hustle inside, shut the doors, and as he feels the lurch of motion as the ambulance pulls away, Steve can’t help but hiss through his teeth.

Billy’s a _wreck_.

The other boy is laid out, as limp as if he were passed out after a kegger, but with no reassuring snore, just an ugly gasping sound and the mask they put over his face barely muffles it. His shirt’s off so the paramedics could examine him and there’s stripes across his ribs, bruising on his face- parts of his chest just look _wrong_ , and his jacket’s long gone, the sleeves of his shirt have been slit past the elbow to let tubes be stuck in him.  The upturned palm that Steve can see- Jesus, it looks cut to ribbons, is that _glass_ -?

The older beta is pressing a stethoscope against different spots on Billy’s chest in a practiced curve, and Steve is _sitting down_ , he is _not interfering_ because he doesn’t know a damn thing and he doesn’t want to make this worse-

Billy’s eyes flutter when the paramedic chooses a spot between two ribs and sticks a _needle_ in between them, and after a startling _whoosh_ of air- suddenly he’s _breathing_ again, clear and real, though he shuts his eyes again with a squeeze after. The paramedic snips the finger off a glove and tapes it to the connector at the end of the needle. There’s a small cut at the tip, making the thing act like a valve, inflating and deflating bizarrely as Billy breathes.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters to himself, picking up on a new wave of distress-scent, sickly-sour and awful.

What the hell had _happened_ in that house?

“Kid- you wanna help?” the grey-haired medic asks, seeming _entirely too calm_ to Steve’s senses, for all he’s grateful for it.

“Hold his hand.  Or his arm- the spot there that isn’t bruised up.  It’ll help calm him down.”   _Keep you busy too,_ his eyes seem to say, or maybe that’s just Steve projecting.

In the background, one of the monitors is beeping, in sync with Billy’s heartbeat and fuck, nobody should have a heartbeat jackrabbiting that fast unless they were trying to be first across the finish line of a ten mile race.

Tentatively, Steve reaches out, laying his hand on the spot the medic indicated, just above the wrist. It’s small enough an area, flanked by lacerated skin caked with drying blood on one side and an ugly bruise on the other. He almost draws his hand back when he finds the skin underneath clammy and cold, because fuck, if anything, Hargrove usually runs hot. He’s crowded Steve enough times during practice, almost skin to skin, for Steve to know.   
  
_This isn’t right._

He rests his hand on Billy’s arm, gently but firmly, lets his thumb stroke over the skin in a slow back and forth motion. His eyes go to Billy’s face. Caked blood over shallow cuts, one hell of a shiner and ugly bruises on one cheekbone and the jaw. The half-transparent plastic mask covering the omega’s mouth and nose fogs up with every breath and above it, Billy’s eyes are pinched closed, like a kid desperately trying to ignore the monster lurking under their bed.

“Hey.  Hey, Billy- it’s okay.  It’s gonna be okay, you hear me?” Steve says, and he hopes it doesn’t sound as lame as it feels.  There’s nothing to fight here- all he can do is just- _be here._

“Just let these guys do their thing- you’re gonna be okay.”  The skin under his hand is still frightfully cold, compared to the furnace Billy’s usually running.  Steve rubs a circle with his thumb, an endless round, sometimes a figure eight.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

Please don’t let him be lying.

But the jackrabbit beat of the monitor seems to catch on that the next measure isn’t supposed to be a speed metal song, and Billy’s breath still fogs the mask, and that little glove-tip balloon _sticking out of his chest_ _ohgod_ , it’s still inflating and deflating on the mostly regular.

That’s a good thing, right?

_Didn’t think I would end up worrying over you, Hargrove._


	3. Chapter 3

There’s a spot of warmth on Billy’s arm.

A tiny spot, when everything else is ice, turning him brittle and ready to break.

He’s ready to let himself go down in that dark, cold sea, anything to escape the way his body burns, the weight of it ready to pull his bones from his flesh and strip his skin clean off like scouring sand.

He wants to run from that warm spot.

He wants to lean into it and never let go.

 

For Steve, it doesn’t seem like a long time, but it also feels like it takes forever.  Billy is still breathing, no matter how strange it looks.  He’s nearly white as a sheet, hair wild around his head, matted in blood in some places, but the monitor on the wall shows his heartbeat staying steady.

Billy’s eyes pop open, hazy blue, when Steve breaks the contact for a moment to steady himself.

“Hey- hey, it’s alright, I’ve got you, huh?”  There’s a skitter in the beat on the monitor, a jump, and Steve sets his hand back on the omega’s wrist again as soon as he can.  Traces the same ouroborous again, back and forth, trying to make things right.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing- keep breathing for us, okay?  Man- you’re gonna be back to kicking my ass on the court in no time…"

 

Billy blinks, the light is too bright, everything looks fuzzy, with muted noises echoing in the distance, ringing through his head like echoes in a well.

He closes his eyes again, not sure if he’s gonna puke, not sure if he wouldn’t just simply choke on his sick if he did.

On a normal day, he can run on the basketball court with the best of them _I wonder what that dark hair feels like, looks so soft,_ but right now he can’t move, _gotta move Neil is going to kill me, please, gotta move...._

His body jerks, only for a voice, a steady, warm voice, to shush him, even as a hand holds on to his arm, gently but firmly.

_Wh-what?_

The voice stays, familiar in tone, strange in its’ presence.

“Hey, buddy- Hargrove, it’s okay.  Just rest up.  It’s safe here.  You’re safe.  You’re in good hands.  Or- good enough.”  Steve keeps up the patter, and after a while it’s not even about saying the right things, but about saying anything, in the right tones.  There’s no monster to hold at bay, just- someone hurt to comfort.

The monster’s been arrested.  Hopefully- that’s enough.

They pull into the hospital in about twenty minutes that seem like an hour, and Steve wonders when they’ll tell him to back off, to let them whisk Billy away.  In the back of the van, under the harsh white light, the omega looks so much smaller than he usually does, swaggering around with a mean streak to push people away and a charming smile to draw them back in.

_Do I tell Max I went with him as far as I could?_

The older paramedic waves at him to come along as they wheel the stretcher into the emergency room.

Billy gets transferred to a narrow examination table and a small team of doctors, nurses and medical technicians start swarming around him like bees around their hive.

Steve stands to the side with the paramedics, who make their report one of the three doctors, a harried looking young woman with a hair-bun that must have been neat and tidy when she got up in the morning and now has come half undone.  The conversation is not enough to keep his eyes from being drawn back to the prone form of the boy being poked and prodded on the table.  One of the older nurses takes a look at Billy’s earrings and sneers, her grandmotherly face suddenly reminding Steve of the Wicked Witch of the West, and he _growls_.

The sound earns him an irritated look from the doctor, but she doesn’t send him off and when her questions reach Billy’s past medical history and other details, the paramedics come up blank, but Steve is surprised with which ease he can fill in some of the gaps.  Date of birth, no known allergies, no chronic diseases or major surgeries... _fuck, what else do I know about Billy Hargrove that I hadn’t realized?_

He seems to have gotten lost in thought, because the doctor frowns at him.

“Sir?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“It seems that the omega had a very favorable reaction to your presence. Are the two of you mated? Because scent therapy is very helpful even in situations like this one, and it works especially well between mates.”

“I-“  the hell?  What in the actual hell?  “No.  No, we’re not- but if I’m helping, should I stay here?”  If it’s going to help Hargrove get through this…

Maybe he doesn’t owe Billy this.  But he’s not going to just throw the other boy away.

“I think he stole a sweatshirt of mine once.  If I can make this easier, I will.  But- can I ask- is he gonna be okay?”

  
  
On the ER’s examination table, Billy’s not sure what they put in that I.V. he’s hooked up to, but after a while, it’s driven back the pain and while it’s also fuzzing the edges, not _hurting_ so goddamn much means that the world around him swims back into focus- if he manages to open his heavy eyelids- and people talking doesn’t sound anymore like it’s competing with white noise on the radio.

_Hospital.  Still alive.  Been a while since the old man got me that bad._

_...the fuck is Harrington doing here?_

And then that ridiculous doc asks the question about them being mated, and suddenly, breathing is hard again, even though his ribs don’t hurt one little bit right now.  
  
_Stupid._

He almost laughs when he hears Steve’s answer, hopes no one will notice the choked gasp it comes out as, not amongst his body’s other struggles as it tries to cope.  
  
Stealing that sweater at the end of last year, before everything had gone even more down the drain than usual, had been a dumb idea.  _But you wanted to watch Harrington run around school the whole day, looking for that expensive thing that cost more than the wheels to my car, and make fun of him._

 _Dumb to take it._ Even dumber to keep it.

Dumbest thing of all?  He’d buried that thing at the bottom of a crate somewhere and forgotten about it.  Until a few short days later, when his heat hit.

As usual, he’d been ready to scale the walls and burn the whole house down, but hadn’t been able to do much more than curl up on his bed, whimpering softly as wave after wave of heat rolled over him, reducing his whole world to the aching emptiness between his legs.

He’d remembered the sweater then and had stumbled across the room to dig it back up again.  Had buried his face in the fabric, inhaling the still fresh scent.  Had taken it to bed, curled up around it, _just that little bit of alpha to keep me from flying apart._

He doesn’t get heats super-regular anymore- lifting weights is good like that- but when they hit, they hit like a freight-train.  He supposes it’s all part of the ‘joys of growing up’- at least, if you can’t get on the Pill and just erase them from your mind as long as you’re careful with your upkeep.

_Thanks for being there for me back then Harrington, even if you didn’t realize you were doing it._

Which- doesn’t really answer the real question.

 _Why are you here,_ now _?_

The doc is saying something about a punctured lung- Harrington’s eyes go wide, but the doc manages to reassure him some.  Enough that he doesn’t immediately go for Billy’s wrist again, which, to be fair, would be kinda tough with the rest of the medical staff circling around him.

Which is just- _bummer_ .  It was a weird feeling, but it was nice- and now he _knows_ he’s on good stuff, if he’s that loopy over _hand-holding_ with Steve Harrington.

_His hand was so warm... he smelled so good._

With a jolt that hits like lightning, he realizes that he's been staring when Harrington looks up, locks eyes with him and he just _falls_ into those deep brown eyes.   
  
His lips move, ready to whisper _Steve_ like it's some soft prayer, spoken in a lost cathedral deep in the woods, but he catches himself just in time.  Bites the soft inside of his cheek until the coppery tang of blood is fresh in his mouth.   
  
Harrington seems frozen, the granite statue of one of the heroes of old about to be brought to life by the breath of the gods, alabaster skin the color of pale cream beginning to blush a soft rose.   
  
_Dumb._   
  
_Stupid idiot. Dumb stupid idiot._   
  
_Falling for local royalty like that._   
  
Cinderella is a pretty poison dripped in the ear of babes to make them easier prey for wolves in gold-bedecked sheep's clothing.   
  
Stuff like that only ever ends in tears, the moment wide-eyed puppies get their first taste of blood.   
  
There's a familiar heat bubbling up in Billy’s chest, eating at everything in its way, making his insides burn and he balls his fist to keep it down, cut-up hands stinging like hell, clenches his jaw to keep it in.   
  
Harrington's eyes go wide and he involuntarily backs down a step and beneath the oxygen mask Billy feels his mouth curl in a cruel smile.   
  
Yeah, run away princess. No easy pickings for you here. I ain't that cheap.

It doesn’t last, because Harrington catches sight of Billy’s balled up fist, steps back up.

 

“Hey, hey- you’ll hurt yourself, you keep doing that, your hands might still have glass in those cuts.”

He turns to the gold-bespectacled doctor with grey hair, who has been ordering everybody else around as they take care of Billy.  
  
“Is there anything else you can do for him?”

The head doctor gives him just a hint of an eyebrow as he adjusts his glasses.

“We’ll be taking him into x-ray next, get a proper look at what’s going on in that chest of his. Strong odds after that, we pop him into surgery to handle what we find there. Now- is there any possibility your friend here might be pregnant?”

 _Get it together, Harrington_ , Steve thinks, hoping his ears aren’t as beet-red as they suddenly feel.  

“Not that I know of?”  He knows better than to believe the rumor-mill that exaggerates all possible contact into escapades that would make more sense in a brothel than in small-town Indiana.  Billy’s got a reputation as the new keg-king, plenty of girls going nuts over him, up to and including the alpha cheerleaders- but whatever Hargrove does in closets and at parties isn’t really Steve’s business, is it?  

And he seems like the type of guy to be real careful about not getting caught like that.

He looks over to Billy, looking for some kind of reaction or confirmation, and there kind of is, since the omega glares at him as if Steve had just been personally responsible for them losing a major basketball game, then rolls his eyes and looks away, shoulders still stiff.

 _Fuck off Harrington.  I’m not your damn charity case.  Not here to make you look big again._   
  
Billy’s still intensely aware of the alpha standing nearby, listening to the doctor prattle on about the diagnoses’ painted and pounded into his body, the sound of it alone making him nauseous.

_As if he were my caretaker. As if he had any right to be here._

He watches the medical team wrapping things up, the room emptying, with one doctor wiping the cold gel for the ultrasound from his stomach, asking the nurse beside him to note in the patient’s chart that there’s been a bleed in the spleen, but not much, and that it’d require some monitoring over the next few days.

Pulling up a stool with squeaky wheels, a grey-haired nurse sits down beside Billy, draws up one of those rolling tables littered with cotton swabs, disinfectant, tweezers and whatnot and takes his arm without looking at him, rests it on the table with something that’s almost a bang and begins cleaning his hand.

Her name tag reads “Bernadotto”, not too many of these around, and he still remembers Mark Bernadotto’s face when he and Tommy had tripped the nerdy wise-ass up and sent him and his books sprawling in the school’s corridor.  They’d proceeded to pull down his pants as he struggled, making the kids around them either giggle or sneak off with a disgusted look on their face.  
  
Mrs. Bernadotto grabs the tweezers and more or less jabs them into one of the deeper cuts, wiggling them around with more vigour than strictly necessary as she works to extract one of the shards.  Even with the pain meds dripping into his arm, it feels like Billy’s hand is getting mauled by a shark.

He grits his teeth, closes his eyes and takes care to stay quiet and not to move as she works.

Steve frowns at the harsh display- he gets that the stuff has to come out, but does she have to be that brusque?

“Are you gonna pick out everything?  How do you make sure you’ve got it all?”

Nurse Bernadotto looks up, gives him a little frown.

“By being thorough.”  
  
“Just- glass breaks up really irregular, so some of the pieces could be- really small, or break off of the big ones-”

The woman looks at him a moment longer, finally breathing out a harsh sigh. Her tweezer-hand relaxes a bit, bobbing a bit as if she’d be tapping them if that weren’t a good way to unsanitize the instrument.

“Someone paid attention in physics class.  Look- the important thing is to get as much out as possible, so that the skin’s got a chance to heal up. The very fine slivers- sometimes they’ll take a while to work themselves out, but they do eventually.” She sets back to work again, though with a more cautious eye, and a gentler hand.

“Fortunately- I’m not seeing a lot of those.”

Billy’s shoulders relax, tension bleeding out of his body like the tide leaving the shore.

_What the hell are you doing, Harrington?_

Making stupid chit-chat about the physics of glass breaking seems like a stupid thing to do in the situation, but whatever the hell, the nurse is going gentler now and it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

He takes a deep breath, catches a whiff of Steve’s scent, burnt amber, cinnamon and leather, and his eyes sting.  He squeezes them shut, swallows hard, pushing himself to keep things in.  In the background, he can still hear nurses speak, discussing the prep for getting him in the OR after the X-ray, but if he didn’t know how much bad pain can wear you out, he’d be thinking his hearing is going, because they start to sound increasingly distant.  His whole body feels like it’s turning to stone, heavy and hard to move, his thoughts running slow like molasses, but he’s not done yet, there’s things nagging at the back of his mind like nettle pinpricks.

_I’ll have to snag a doctor somewhere, maybe charm the dowdy one with the bun if she’s around, find out how long it’s gonna take me to heal up._

_Going by last time, the ribs’ll take about six weeks to be okay again, and will hurt like fuck while they do._ He thinks he still remembers most of the breathing exercises you’re supposed to do to keep your lungs clear.  They’ll probably send him home way before then, since the most important cure for broken ribs is time. _But what the hell is a pneumothorax?_

Involuntarily, he gets a flash of the moment where Neil had paused for a moment, allowed Billy to gather himself, really take in the situation he was in, what was going down, already wheezing, he was in so much pain, and then kicked him in the ribs again, hard.  The memory makes ice run up his spine.

_He really was trying to kill me.  Nobody there, he’d probably have claimed self-defense._

_Fuck_ … _where is he now?_

 _...fuck...where’s_ Max _?_

He takes a deep breath, hissing at the sting in his side where they inserted a tube in his chest just a few minutes ago, something to help with his lung, and tries to remember.

_Police car at the curb.  Max must’ve called the Chief.  Him and her little gang are close.  Explains Harrington too._

_......shit._

He has to swallow hard, or otherwise he might puke.

 _Max called the police.  She called the fucking CHIEF.  Neil’s gonna_ beat her to a pulp _once he gets the chance.  And having to play nice until his lawyer’s gotten any charges and CPS out of the way won’t sweeten his temper._

“Billy?  Hey-” Steve says, catching the harsh hitch in the other boy’s breath.  Most of the nurses and doctors have left, so he steps closer, sets his hand on the one clear spot on Hargrove’s wrist again, warming the skin the best he can. The other boy’s not as icy-cold as he was, but he’s still nothing like the engine-hot he usually runs.

“Pretty sure you heard all that.  They’re gonna get you into surgery soon, fix up your ribs- figure you’re doing okay if they’re not rushing you off right this second.  Uh- asking if you’re okay seems kinda dumb, given- this,” he says, hoping the nurse can at least pretend she’s not rolling her eyes at him fumbling through this. 

Billy tenses the muscles under his palm, squeezing his other fist despite the remaining glass wounds there. 

“Yeah, um.  Max.  Max is good, she’s in good hands,” _if that’s important to you._  “Hopper got her.  She was scared for you.”

_Idiot._

Billy wants to yell at Steve, tell him that being safe _now_ means jack shit if it’s going to get you skinned alive _later_ , and that this stupid, stupid sister should just have _run_ , but all that comes out, weak and muffled by the oxygen mask still sitting on his face is “...fuck… off… Harringt’n…”

Nurse Bernadotto tsk’s disapprovingly and Billy’s glad that she’s now bandaging up his hand, though he greatly suspects she’s not going to go gently when she gets round to taking care of his other one.

“Sorry, can’t.  Promised I wouldn’t,” Steve says, dry as summer grass.  “And we don’t break promises.  So I guess you’re stuck with me, sitting vigil at your bedside.” 

And as much of an asshole as he is, Steve is strangely reassured that Billy has at least a little of his bite left.  Knocked silly or not, Hargrove will find a way to spit in your face with a smile.  Hopefully that means his brain wasn’t knocked loose, and it’ll settle again with some time to recover.

“Would you rather I went down to the chapel, lit a candle?  Hop said to keep an eye on you while he was busy dealing with- everything else.”

Billy tries to glare, but knows he’s failed when Harrington doesn’t even blink.

_Fuck. Why is this asshole wasting his words and being so damn chatty?_

But the place on his arm where he can feel Steve’s hand, skin on skin, is like a lodestone pointing to true north. Being aware that at some point, he’s going to lose that again, is like knowing that one day you’ll die.  It makes you want to run, even though you have nowhere to go or hide.

The sigh he finally heaves is weary, a small shift in the weight he carries.

 

“Wh’t’ver... suit yours’lf," he slurs.  "Not like I c’n stop you.”

There’s a brief pause.

“-look, do you really want me to go?”  If Billy’s able to speak, able to think despite it all, then- Steve should probably respect his wishes, at least right here and now. 

“I can sit in the waiting room, check in after recovery.  If that’s what you want.  I just figured- you got the shit beat out of you.  No one here knows you.  Sometimes it helps- having someone in your corner.”

Nurse Bernadotto switches round to the other side, waits with an impatient air for Steve to let go of Hargrove’s wrist, which he does after a moment’s processing, _oh, that’s what she wants._  She gathers up Billy’s other hand, starts picking with her instruments in a businesslike but not _entirely_ brutal manner.

“This young fellow is not entirely unknown to _me_ , Mister Harrington.  We can look after him just fine.”  Her eyes are zeroed in on her task, her mouth in a hard line- directed at them or herself, hard to tell.

For a moment, Billy freezes, a deer caught in the headlights, but then he laughs, a dry bark that resonates strangely through the oxygen mask.

“...unl’k _you_ Harringt’n… I... c’n take… a hit.  I don’... need a b’bysitter.”   
  
He looks directly at Steve, eyes going frosty and blank in a way that would have Steve worried about a fight if they weren’t in an ER right now.  Billy must have noticed, because his lips twist in a nasty smile.

“....th’t the way you g’t your rocks off, Harringt’n?  Didn’ know you h’d it…’n you.  B’t hey... be my guest.”  And he turns his face away, closes his eyes, jaw clenched tight.

Nurse Bernadotto frowns fiercely, as if someone had just peed in her morning coffee, and her movements gain the slight jerkiness of someone walking an unruly dog.

It still doesn’t hurt like the first time round, but it definitely stays unpleasant.

Billy remembers being small, like maybe five. It was one of the few times he got taken to the hospital, even though there was nothing broken, just a long laceration a small ways above the ear. The nurse, heavyset and rosy-cheeked, had tutted about the cut almost damaging his scent glands, and had then proceeded to sew it up, hands soft and warm and gentle. She’d given him a lollipop after and told him what for a brave boy he was, with both her and his mom smiling at him. And for a moment, nothing had hurt anymore.

 _Not gonna get any lollipops here.  Certainly not from Nurse Bernadotto.  T’likes of me don’ get no lollipops.  Or candles.  But once I’m back on my feet... my mom should get one.  Been a while since I lit one._   
_  
_ Last time he tried, he’d been twelve.  Saved up so he could get more than one.  Had already planned on which days he could go all the way to the church, light the next one.  His father had been in a good mood when he found out.  He’d crammed the candles into a box as Billy stood by and dropped them in the trunk of his car, ready to be dropped off at Goodwill, and then he’d done no more than backhand Billy when he wouldn’t stop crying.

The past is past, but it still washes over him, makes his eyes sting and he keeps his breaths flat and panting, because if he’s learned anything, it’s that tears were only like blood in the water, were like asking to get eaten.  It helps that now that he has his eyes closed, the sight of that dark-eyed asshole shut out and that the room around him bleeds away even more, the voices growing so muffled, it’s almost like a distant dream.

 

“Is he-?”  Steve leans over, concerned as Billy seems to just- fade out, his eyes closing, face going slack except for the frown of pain between his brows.

Nurse Bernadotto shakes her head as she finishes bandaging up the omega’s other hand.

“Fallen asleep, dear.  His vitals are steady- if it was something going wrong we’d be kicking up a fuss.  Pain takes a lot out of you- and he’s in a good deal of it, even with the drugs. This isn’t unusual.”

Steve shoves his hands in his pockets, huffing as he takes in the steady beep of the monitors and the unusual stillness of Billy Hargrove stretched out on his gurney, fast asleep in the midst of pain.  His hair is a tangle of blonde ringlets, smeared with blood, and the burnt-sugar smell he usually covers up is made bold and bitter with fear-sweat.

“I know you can’t tell me everything, but- is he going to be alright?  I heard the word ‘spleen’- that's not good, is it?”

“It's just a small tear. If it doesn't keep bleeding and get bigger, it'll be alright.”

She frowns, looking thoughtful.

“How did this happen? He get into a fight? Other kids gang up on him?”

“No. This was- a domestic.  His father.” And boy does this feel strange to say. It's the kind of thing you hear on TV about, when serious people with wire-rimmed glasses discuss the state of the American Family on the evening segment. Not the kind of thing you expect to witness. Not the kind of thing you expect to happen to someone you know. Not to someone who seems so much in control, feeds on it like hungry crows on carrion.

The nurse’s eyes widen a little and she huffs.

“Well. I never. That's certainly something.”

Then something like anger flashes over her face and her eyes are narrowed as she looks up at Steve.

“You know what. I'll show you to the room he'll be in. You can wait there. It’s stretching the rules a little, but going by the paramedics’ report, you’re acting as the Sheriff’s deputy right now, so I'll swing by, give you an update on how he's doing and what the prognosis is once we’re done with the x-rays and everything.”

“I- thanks.  I appreciate that,” Steve says, privately committing to at least not gossiping about anything he learns.  He’s here to look out for Billy, but they’re far from friends- and he wouldn’t want _his_ medical crap spread all over school, if he had any.

Nurse Bernadotto eyes the boy lying in front of her, bruised, bloodied and asleep, and gets a thoughtful look on her face.

“Not sure you noticed, but… underneath all that snapping and biting he just did, it’s funny how he went out of his way to avoid saying ‘no’, isn’t it?  Or ‘go away.’  And the medics said you managed to bring down his heart-rate and blood-pressure by touch and voice.  Now, hospital policy is to supplement regular therapy with scent therapy, especially after surgery.  It’s usually mates or family or close friends, but we also match patients to willing donors if they don’t have anybody… 

“Would you be willing to help?”

Steve takes a look at Hargrove, at rest with his eyes closed above the oxygen mask.  His eyelashes are dark, damp and spiked from tears.

“-yeah.  I can help.”

  



	4. Chapter 4

Max watches the police car and the ambulance arrive.  Watches Hopper march her step-father out of the house and the paramedics take Billy away.

When Hopper finally comes up to the neighbor’s house, she can’t help but run outside, and fling herself into his arms, sobbing her heart out.  The older alpha’s arms wrap around her, and for awhile, he just holds her, lets her cry herself out.

“It’s gonna be okay, kid.  I’ve got you.”  Max is a tough kid- Jim knows that from Jane, who knows it from her friends in the little gang that always gets mixed up in the crazier shit.  But even the toughest kids have their limits, and this has been a hell of a day.

“You did good, kid.  You did good.”

“Billy-“

“He’s gonna be okay.  Got him into the hospital- he’s in the best possible place right now.”

“What - what happens now?”

“Well, we’re going to go back to your house, pick up a few of your things so you can stay somewhere else.  Will’s place if you want- the Byers are certified by CPS to take in kids for a few days.”  Max’s eyes go wide, like this is the first time she’s considered that.  Probably is.  

“Gonna call your mom, but ‘til CPS has sorted this out, she only gets visitation rights.  Sorry to say that I need to take you to the station first, though.  I’ve got to take your statement, and that’s going to be rough, not gonna lie- your step-dad will cool his damn heels in jail for a bit, until someone posts bail.  There’ll be a hearing.  We’ll see where it goes from there.”

He gently squeezes her shoulder.

“And that was a lot to take in, so I’m going to run it all by you again once you’re ready.  For now though?  Let’s get you some things.”

Max nods shakily, and Jim lets her lead him into the house, comes with her to her room as they navigate past the shattered glass from the living room.  

Her room is across the hall from Billy’s, and she glances over at his door before heading to her closet.  There’s a suitcase she has from before the move that used to be her overnight bag when she had sleepovers with friends- she starts pulling underwear and socks, then picks a few shirts, another pair of pants.

Heading to the bathroom for her toothbrush, she can’t help but look over at Billy’s room again.

She doesn’t have a lot of furniture, her bed is very plain- but she has one.  Bright quilts, and curtains.  She’d viewed Billy’s spartan arrangement of milk crates, mattress and makeshift stacks of old suitcases to hold his things as some kind of- obnoxious teenage dedication to ugliness, before and after the move- but the insistence that he get a new (used) bed and dresser had never appeared, the way Mom had done for her.

Her hand goes tight around her suitcase’s handle.

“Should- should I get Billy some clothes too?”

“You've done enough for now.  I'll send someone over later to pick up his things.”

“I saw Steve.  I saw him get in the ambulance with Billy.  Are...are you going to send Steve to pick up his clothes?”

“Might as well.  You want him to pick up the rest of your stuff too?”

“I- I don't know.  My mom, she-  ...I don't know.”

“Well, you can decide later.”

She nods sharply, sets out towards the front door, pauses at the dining area and  _ looks _ , face set.

Hopper keeps a respectful distance. 

_ She's got a lot to process.  Better to do it with a clear eye _ . 

Max sets the suitcase down, steps up to the area where the ground is covered with blood and glass and bandage wrappings and other small detritus that the paramedics left behind.  Picks up Billy’s jacket, carelessly discarded, and puts it on.  She almost disappears in its depths, aside from her pale face.

“We can go now.”

_ Brave kid.  Good kid.  She’ll be alright,  _ Jim thinks, a hand on her shoulder as he guides her out to the car.

_ I’ll make sure she’s alright. _

 

It’s a quiet ride to the station, and Jim helps her settle in, sets up with the recorder and his notebook.

She’s shaky but determined in her chair, pulling her brother’s jacket around her shoulders like armor.

“How do we- how do I start this?”

“Well- you let me state the date and my name, and then you tell me what happened, to the best of your recollection.”

He does just so, Chief Jim Hopper, a shit January day, and could you state your name for the record, miss.  Maxine Mayfield, call me Max- and could you tell me about the incident earlier in the day.  In your own words. 

Something along those lines, anyway.

“We were late home- I was on the bus, and Billy had to wait for me…”

Hopper asks his questions, slow and careful.  The secretary with the smooth 20’s voice that took Max’s call earlier pops in after half an hour, brings them sandwiches and Cokes.  Max isn't hungry- her stomach roiling like a pit of snakes, but Hopper makes them take a break, and as he tucks in, mumbling about needing to keep your strength up in times of crisis, even if you feel like it's all made of cardboard- she takes a sandwich too. 

Billy always made her eat breakfast.  He'd been nasty about it when she didn't want to  _ Eat your Goddamn breakfast, Max _ , but he'd also gotten up early each and every damn day where Susan had an early shift and wasn't there and had made sure there were pancakes, fluffy and golden. 

The chief is right.  The sandwiches are good, fresh bread, PBJ, ham and cheese.  Everyday favorites.  And they DO taste like cardboard.

“I didn’t know what it meant, when I saw the stick.  I thought it was just- you know- Mom said he hurt his knee in the war.  I hadn’t seen him use it much, it was just *there* by his chair some days. Mostly it was up on the wall.”

The food might be wasted on her tongue right now, but having  _ something _ in her is at least helping her stop shivering, stay warm in the shell of Billy’s jacket.

“I’ve heard thumping before.  Yelling.  I never saw it.  I never- I didn’t think he’d  _ hit _ like that.  It sounds fu- it just sounds  _ crazy _ even while I’m saying it.  And I  _ saw _ it.  I watched it happen.”

Hopper takes a swig of his Coke, looks thoughtful.

“You wanna use swear-words kid, go ahead, use ‘em.  This kind of shit is what they were invented for.  Unburdens the soul.”

He sighs deeply, looks her straight in the eye.

“Gonna give it to you straight.  Seen quite a few of these things in my job, and they tend to run like clockwork.  Periods of calm, where it all looks well on the surface, turning into moments where it all just explodes.  And it’s not the kind of thing people yap on about in public.  They tend to keep things quiet.”

Max’s mouth tightens, a bitter anger creeping into her eyes, and Hop pats his pockets for his smokes, anything to escape the unspoken questions he has no good answers for. 

_ Ah, kid… _

His fingers find the crumpled package and he lays it on the table, but then gives her a second glance, thinks about her having to breathe in all that smoke in this small space.  Sighing, he grabs another sandwich instead.

“I don’t doubt that your stepdad did hurt his knee at some point.  Sounds like he found another purpose for the walking stick after his knee was healed up… and that he kept it around as one hell of a reminder.”

“I thought he was gonna kill Billy.  And when I tried to get between them- he hit  _ me. _ Threw me away, when Billy got up and gave him lip,” Max says. Hitting the floor hard like that had hurt at the time, but it was more the motion that had rocked her, the realization that  _ this was happening  _ and no it wasn’t a dream.

“Why would he do this?  I’ve been late before- Billy hates it, he yells over it, tells me he’ll leave me behind but he never does.”

And it sits like a ball of lead at the pit of Jim’s stomach, heavy and cold, and capable of smashing her to bits if he doesn’t tread carefully.  But she’s already asking questions, cutting through to the heart of it.

“When there’s more than one person involved… it can become a bad kind of game, where one person gets pitted against another.”

He takes a longing look at the pack of cigarettes on the table, then takes a bite out of the sandwich instead, chewing slowly, watching the wheels in her head turn.   _ She’s almost there.  Well… _

“Your brother doesn’t strike me as the type who would normally care that much about punctuality.”

“Neil makes him pick me up and drop me off places.  He’s like- he’s protective of me.  Treats me like I’m his actual daughter- like I need protecting,” Max mutters, mouth twisting as she looks away.  

“He’s good to my mom, but I’m like- I just live here, okay?  It’s not like ‘you’re not my dad’, it’s just- does he have to be so- so  _ much _ my dad?  I’m almost fourteen, and I used to get around by myself just fine.  But then he puts Billy in charge, and it’s be here, be there, and always with  _ him _ being a prick about it, because he  _ doesn’t _ want to be there…”

She gets really quiet after that, shrinking into the jacket again.

“I guess he didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh, you always have the choice _not to be a_ _prick_ to other people. Even if it can be hard to figure out.”

He washes down the last bite with a swill of soda, eyes his typewriter again.

_ Time to finish this up.  Then take her to the hospital to see how her brother is doing, if she wants to.  Arrange for Joyce to pick her up. _

“You know… people can feel protective for a lot of reasons. And it's not always because they care about someone as a person.”

“What, like because your parents will give you hell if you- don’t…?”

And Max goes quiet again, chewing it over in her head faster than the sandwich she’s spent the last twenty minutes picking at.

“He- didn’t stop picking on me.  Trying to drive off my friends.  Until I- told him not to.  That night, with the- with Will.  With the bat.”  Hopper is a cop- but given how tied up he is in the down-the-rabbit-hole crazy part of what goes on in this town, she thinks she’s safe saying this much.

“I made Billy stop.  And this time he listened.  Because I was gonna hurt him, and he knew it.”  And she’s not sorry, damnit- he came in there, raging like an angry bull that got out of its pen, and he was going to hurt Lucas, like he had  _ any right _ to say who she could be with-

Neil had made him her jailer.  But if Billy didn’t care about what she did, except for what would happen to him if she didn’t heed…

“It’s not fair.  It’s not fair to make me the reason to fight…”

“You’re right kid.  It isn’t fair.  I’m sorry.”

Brows furrowed, she looks down to the side, as if the cheap linoleum held any answers and there’s anger creeping into her voice.

“Neil isn’t protective of me and my mom because he cares,  _ is he _ ?  He didn’t set Billy up to this because he was  _ worried _ .  It was a way to keep tabs on me.  He’s always on Billy’s case how he’s a disappointment as a son, and…”

She remembers those low-voiced lectures about discipline and acting appropriately that Neil started giving her recently and shivers, pulling the leather jacket closer around her.  The scent of sandalwood, roses and burnt sugar that is Billy’s wraps around her like a blanket and she takes a deep breath and another, until it she’s no longer trembling. 

It’s almost like in those first few weeks, when Susan introduced her to Neil and her brother-to-be.  While their parents went on a date, Billy would take her to the pier and play arcade games with her, throwing his head back and laughing, ruffling her hair when she beat him at Centipede.  He’d let her wear his jacket then, when the evening air was chilly, and he’d buy her a hotdog on the way home.    


He’d been almost cool then, only bitter in little moments she’d barely seen.  Even then, he’d kept it curled in close, putting on half a smile when she’d come around. 

Hopper takes in one of those breaths that almost always leads to a sigh, and puts a hand on the shoulder of her jacket.

“It’s- I can’t say whether or not your step-dad cares.  But it seems like the  _ way _ he cares, is set up to hurt.”  His pop came back from World War II- he’d come back from Vietnam, same as Neil Hargrove had, according to Max.  Either one was enough to know that some men come back from war with a need for control, and no good way to get it but to take it out on their own families.

Then again- some men do that anyways, with no good goddamn reason at all.

“Some people don’t know better than to do that.  Some do, and they do it anyway because it keeps them right where they want to be.  And nowhere in there is a good reason for going off the rails like he did today.”

Max is quiet for a good little bit at that, and she finally looks up at Jim, something gone hard in her gaze.

“So what happens now?”

“Well- if you can finish up telling me what happened today, then I type it up, file it, and then we can see about checking in on your brother.  After that, probably the Byers’ house.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Steve feels odd, getting ready to slip underneath the covers of the bed that will be Billy’s in a bit.    


Nurse Bernadotto had given him forms to sign, agreeing to be a scent-donor- giving him a last chance to back out.  He'd paused briefly, only to square his jaw and sign the document with a quick flourish. Nurse Bernadotto had nodded, added the papers to Hargrove's file and then led Steve to the room reserved for their most recent trauma patient.  She’d asked Steve to use the adjacent shower, since they didn’t want any funny kind of germs from out in the streets to end up in the bed of someone straight out of surgery. 

She’d also provided a set of hospital briefs, for decency, but stressed the importance of making as much skin-contact with the still neutral-smelling bedding as possible.

“I suggest you think happy thoughts, Mr. Harrington. The purpose is, after all, to mark the bed with a scent that will be a source of comfort.” She’d winked at him. He’d tried not to wince.  

“Don’t make it  _ too  _ happy, though. That might be a tad distracting.” 

“Right,” Steve had said, trying very hard to keep his face and demeanor and just- general everything as neutral as possible, because how  _ desperately _ awkward was this?  But Nurse Bernadotto had seemed satisfied that he knew what to do, and left the room and him to his own devices.

So a short shower later and Steve’s standing in front of the still pristine bed.

He takes a moment, feeling- well, mostly naked, standing there and rocking back and forth on his heels, before pulling back the covers on the crisply-made hospital bed and sliding between the sheets.

_ Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts. _

Because alphas and omegas had some spectacularly weird chemistry, and if high school biology had taught him anything that movies and the books you’d find under your mom’s bed when you were twelve hadn’t- it’s that there was a real basis beneath the stuff everyone told each other about bonding, and scent therapy, and the mushy stuff about pack-bonding and _ mates _ , not just couples.

Not that he’s trying to bond with Billy or anything. Just- the omega seemed to respond well.  They ‘clicked’, biologically speaking. This was just to give a sensitive ome- no, he can’t even finish that sentence, not even in his own head, but it’s to give Billy’s immune system a boost, make his stress hormones chill out.  Let him heal. Because somehow, despite being at loggerheads in school and having come to blows over what started as Max and became its own fight for dear life-

_ There’s something between us. _

Gingerly, Steve stretches out in the bed, trying to concentrate on warming it, trying to relax.  It’s nothing to get in a twist about. It’s just a little jumpstart, fooling biology to get a nice little placebo effect.  And hell- after the day Billy’s had, after the further day he’s about to have, doesn’t he deserve to rest up in a place that smells like someone cares about him?

The bruisy stripes against the other boy’s skin flash in Steve’s head, and he has to swallow a growl.   _ Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Imagine it’s Nancy, _ and they’ve just exchanged little scarves to start playing at scenting… 

_ Fuck’s sake, Harrington.  You’re going to just make yourself depressed, and that helps no one. _

He turns in the sheets, restlessly trying to get comfortable and failing.

_ Shit.  How the hell am I supposed to think happy thoughts about  _ Billy Hargrove? 

Nobody deserves to get beat up by their own father like that,  _ it's just not right _ , but damned if Billy isn't a huge asshole and furthermore, a pain in the neck. One who’s been starting to go down the road his father went before him.

_ This is a fucking mess.  _

He should just cut his losses and leave.  It’s not like he  _ owes _ Hargrove anything.  But Max is  _ one of his _ and she needs help with this, and he knows perfectly well that if he just leaves, the image of Billy lying on that stretcher bloodied and bruised is going to stay with him. Another portrait for his growing gallery of nightmares.

_ How am I supposed to solve this? _

The thought gives him a pause.  If there’s one thing he hates, it’s how his parents are hardly home.  Because his father’s company is building a new plant in India, and there’s been one  _ problem  _ cropping up after the other, from heavy monsoon rains to the delivery of wrong building materials. 

On the rare occasions his parents were home lately, his dad wouldn’t stop prattling on and on about all the bullshit cropping up.  It just seemed so overwhelming to Steve, if it was him he’d have thrown the towel long ago. But not his dad, no. His dad didn’t stop talking about it like a ten year old with a brand new toy train set.  He remembers asking his mom how he did it, how his dad could  _ like  _ having to put up with all that mess.  She’d patted his hand, smiling.

_ You solve things one bit at a time. You start with the things you can fix first, pick up the thread, and work out from there.  And then you watch as it all comes together. _

_ So.   _

_ Where do I pick up here? _

In the last few months, they’ve been locked in a kind of cold war truce with Billy.  No open hostilities, but no resolution to what happened either. 

Now, that wasn’t going to work anymore- they’re going to have to find some new balance with each other, however that might be.  But that’s a  _ later  _ problem.

For now, the problem he  _ can  _ solve is helping Billy get back on his feet.  Once that’s done, he can re-evaluate, see where to go from there.

_ Now… let’s see.  Happy thoughts about Billy Hargrove. _

Be honest.  Don’t worry about  _ should _ .

_ He’s… impressive, in a way, because  _ man _ , I have no clue what I want from life.  And he always seems to know where he’s going, where he wants to be, and he goes straight for the jugular.  He  _ burns  _ with this… this energy.  That first night I met him, at the party… _

_ Wow. _

Strutting around like some wild thing, easily captivating everyone around him- James Dean by way of Eddy Van Halen, jumping out of his  _ skin _ .  To hear the others tell it, Billy’d gone straight for the keg-stand, fashionably late and arriving in the midst of most of Hawkins’ teenage population, making a splash all by his lonesome and quickly gathering up Tommy and his fellow bottom-feeders to chant his name.

_ “We got ourselves a new Keg King, Harrington!” _  And Billy’d been staring at Steve like he wanted to eat him, like he wanted a fight, while Nancy slipped away from under his arm with a sigh.  

Steve had only stayed for a few seconds before going after her- but surrounded by costumed teens, reeking of beer and cigs, and sweating in the cool night air, he’d caught a whiff of the new kid’s cologne, and the subtly unsubtle way it clashed with his own underlying scent.

Steve had smiled at this new omega, burnt sugar and beer making him smell like some kind of baking treat, the kind with rosewater in them. Everyone around him was treating him like an alpha, lining up behind him like they used to line up behind Steve, all wanting a piece and hoping some of the magic would rub off on them.

Steve had pulled off his glasses, giving Billy a quick once over, his voice dropping to a purr.

“You’re really cute, fella, but didn’t the boys tell you I’m taken?”

And Jesus, the look on Hargrove’s face when he’d said that... 

Not that the others had really taken note, too drunk and too caught up in the carefully woven front Billy had put up, which again, was all kinds of impressive.  

In the days that followed, between short bouts of utter terror over things with flowery heads and too many teeth and a dull ache blooming in his chest each time Nance left him behind a little more, he’d found himself suppressing a grin and his spirits lifted for a brief moment more than once, each time someone referred to Billy as an alpha. 

He also couldn’t help noticing how Billy had a knack for being the kind of trouble and excitement that the others just lapped up, running on emotional high-octane fuel like one simply wouldn’t expect from an omega.

Of course, at some point later, people  _ had  _ found out and Steve had watched Tommy get all flustered when Carol had mentioned it to him, sounding completely scandalized.  And yet Tommy had been all huff and puff about having known all along and about how it was the 80’s, and you were supposed to treat alphas and omegas equally now, right? Right. And Steve had to turn away and hide his laughter by pretending to have a coughing fit when he saw that.

So long after they’d been had, nobody had been willing to bitch about  it any more than the emperor was willing to admit that he wasn’t wearing any clothes and so  Billy had gone on strutting around school, leader of the pack, the others following like little ducklings, and… he’d made it work. 

Even Steve had to admit that the omega ran a good, entertaining game, and that where Steve’s pranks had been relatively tame, like hiding a bunch of alarm clocks in the library, set to go off at irregular intervals, Billy came up with  _ bold  _ pranks which pushed even Steve out of his morose mood for a bit and made him laugh.

There’d been that one time Billy and his hanger-ons had set a greased piglet running in the hallways, with teachers and kids running after it, squealing every bit as much as the piglet itself and people just being in stitches when Mr. McKay had tried to catch it, wrestling the slippery, oinking thing for a full three minutes… and losing spectacularly in the end. 

Or that other time where Billy and his posse had snuck into Mrs. Mayweather’s garden under the cover of night and painted all her garden gnomes a neon pink, all one hundred of them. Her screeching next morning could be heard two neighbourhoods away.

Snuggling deep into the covers, Steve finds himself grinning broadly at the memories, a chuckle of amusement warming him all the way to the tip of his toes.

Seriously, Billy was impressively  _ good  _ at getting others to follow and he had his own style. 

When Steve’d been king, he’d let others come up with ideas and then sorted through them, picked the ones that promised fun and not too much trouble and then saw to it that they pulled it off.  Billy… Billy did it the other way round.  He was the one to have the ideas and then made the others come up with suggestions on how to refine them.  A bunch of alpha’s and betas, running high on hormones and the need to prove themselves, they’d often been chafing a bit under Steve’s steady leadership, how he reined them in.  Not so with Billy.  Since they got to decide about the details, they often felt like it had been their idea to begin with. It hadn’t taken long for them to acquire a swagger they hadn’t had when Steve was around.

And that is something that gives him a pause, here and now.  There’s… advantages to being that motivated.  An edge you can use, especially where it came to stuff like basketball competitions.  

_ But left unchecked, it’s also the kind of thing that gets people hurt.   _

It’s… one of the things to file away for  _ later _ .

There’s a faint sound in the hallway, crepe soles squeaking lightly on the linoleum floor and the shuffling rattle of small wheels and he jerks his head up for a moment- but it’s only a couple of nurses passing by with a cart, talking softly.  He still has to take a minute to relax again after they’ve gone.

The whole scent therapy thing, he doesn’t know if any of this is gonna help as intended- but at least if he’s being calm and not stressing, he’ll leave a warm bed and at least  _ some _ kind of comforting smell behind for Billy to recover in.

Which would maybe be easier if he didn’t feel like he was in a halfway public place, in just not-even-his  _ underwear, _ trying to  _ fantasize _ about  _ good things  _ about _ Billy freaking Hargrove… _

_ Look.  It’s all- placebo, isn’t it?  So if I make myself feel good, then I’ll be helping make  _ him _ feel good.  Okay?  _

_ Okay. _

_ Just- relax.  Breathe in, breathe out.  _

It’s a nice, warm bed, and the uppermost blanket may be rough, but the sheets are nice.  Starched but worn smooth, warmed by his body heat.

_ Think of Mom, rubbing your hair when you were little. Stroking your forehead when you were sick.   _ Warm, safe, comfy thoughts.  Feeling like there was nothing in the world that could hurt you.

That’s usually what omegas are supposed to be about - reassurance.  Building a safe, closed space for themselves and their loved ones, where they could hole up and hide, guarded as needed by those that cared for them- the ‘alpha’s duty’.  And Steve’s been that as much as he could for his partners in his dating career, barring his own stupidity- it hadn’t always been enough, but you at least try to be that kind of man, right?

It’s hard to imagine Billy wanting that from him, though.  Dude acted like he was an alpha, had people eating out of his hand, thinking he was one- and if anybody found out, it was just a little bit queer, if you were that kind of jackass to take issue, but hey, omega’s lib is a thing.  (Steve  _ can  _ learn.)

Billy had acted more like he wanted to take Steve’s place on the vacant high school throne, rather than going the traditional route and pair up with someone strong and popular.  Frankly, Steve had been more than happy to let him take it.  After- everything- with the Upside-Down, petty popularity bullshit had just seemed not worth a damn anymore. And Billy seemed like the kind of guy who’d get more out of it than Steve would.

Ridiculous to think that there would be anything more there.  Billy acted like he needed a protective alpha as much as he needed a hangnail.  He seems like he’d want a hard fight rather than a rough fuck,  _ like Red Sonja in the movie _ \- and a rough fuck far more than any kind of petting.  His fists swung harder than his mouth, and his mouth swung plenty hard, building up a wall of bitter words and brittle grins.  Billy didn’t need  _ anybody _ .

Except of course-  _ now _ .

_ Although… wait a minute. _

It's been a while since his parents have been home long enough to feel routine, and it’s been even far longer since he snuck into their bedroom, slipped into the nest his mother had built, colorful blankets and soft cushions and his parents scent surrounding him in a way that made his heart sing  _ homesafehome _ . 

But still… nesting… nesting is a thing omegas  _ do _ .  Something they need, like people need to  _ breathe _ .  

_ Especially when stressed.   _

The first night Nancy and him had been together, _really_ been together, shortly after the demogorgon, she'd spent a full two hours arranging and rearranging blankets, pillows, candles… moving the damn _bed_ until she was halfway happy.

_ How long since Billy got to  _ nest _? _

A shiver runs down his back, and there's a sinking feeling in his stomach as he recalls the kids having a conversation in the back of his car as he drove them back home from D&D, shortly before Christmas, the subject switching to the scandal du jour at school, which happened to be people finally catching on to Billy being an omega and Dustin wondering what an asshole like that lined their nest with.  Barbed wire?

_ “Nah,”  _ Max had said, rolling her eyes _.  “His room’s like… spartan.  Really spartan.  _ Ancient Greek _ spartan.  He’s got a few old crates set up to hold his things, some band posters.  The bed’s so proper, it looks like it belongs to an alpha in the military.” _

Steve can feel his hackles rise and hell, that’s surely not a comforting mood, but his thoughts race down that particular track without stopping for directions.

  _Billy as they played basketball, sharp smile, swift on his feet, a yellowed bruise low on his belly.  But why ask? Everybody had bruises sometimes, from falling while drunk or a rough tackle during sports._

_ Billy turning around as someone asked him a question, a brief wince and a pause as he moved. _

Nesting only works if you have a safe place for it.  How long since Billy had had a place like that?

There’s…  _ something _ … settling in his chest, both solid and burning, and it comes out in a long, drawn-out growl that he’s pretty sure he’s never made before.  It reverberates off the walls, low and dangerous, like the ground starting to rumble.

_ Hargrove, I  _ swear _ , you’re a complete asshole, but once you get out of here, before everything else, I’m going to make _ sure  _ you get to _ nest  _ somewhere. And I’m going to make  _ sure  _ it’s  _ safe and comfy _ , even if I have to take you blanket and pillow shopping myself. _

Nesting- it’s like-  It’s one of those fundamental things, like getting a toy at Christmas.  Even a, a ‘hard candy’ Christmas like the song, it at least shows that someone  _ cares _ , that an  _ effort _ was made.  Kids and omegas and moms get to have their little safe space to feel okay in.  That’s just how it  _ is _ .  Hell,  _ alphas _ , when they had rut got a place of their own, even though it was called ‘territorialism’ in that instance and was perfectly normal, according to the coach’s sex ed lectures.

If Billy doesn’t bother with it, or just-  _ can’t _ \- for whatever reason-

_ Like that reason is hard to guess… Jesus, no wonder he’s cranky.   _

_ As if his dad  _ hitting him _ weren’t enough… _

The rumble that he’d started up seems to catch like a motor, thrumming in his throat and chest.  Good growl, good huff- protective is the right state of mind.  Steve sprawls under the covers, burying his face in the pillow and tries to think of more.

_ The best nest possible.  Cozy corner. Soft sheets. Long, pretty curtains to shut out the light, or let in the sun, whatever he wants.  Satin… fur.  What does he like…? _

What little imagination he has is starting to fizz.  Billy Hargrove takes up a whole lotta room, person and personality, so the bed better be  _ huge _ .  Two long straight sides, so it fits into the corner, so he  _ knows _ there’s two sides where he doesn’t have to watch his back.  Maybe make the front in a long, round “S” curve, so it feels flowing, organic.

Billy really hangs on to that leather jacket, so… leather upholstery for the gently upturned sides of the bed.  Soft suede, a dusky brown.  Brocade cushions in emerald green, with large pink roses appliquéd, lining the sides.  For one, because Billy is just that dramatic, and two, to match the full and sweet notes of his scent.  A second set of deep blue satin cushions, to match his eyes.

The mattress soft, but still solid enough to support him.  A few dark sheep-skins,  _ soft  _ and supple, thick satin plaid-blankets the dark colour of walnut wood that lie slick and cool against your skin when you need it, but can hold warmth when it gets chilly outside.

Underneath it all, sheets a pale brown-gold, a shade or three darker than Billy’s skin, so he’d just  _ glow  _ against the backdrop. 

He doesn’t have to imagine too hard to see the contrast.  Billy’s been naked and half-naked around him plenty of times since he’d first shown up last year, shirtless under his jacket at the party, always picking ‘skins’ in gym, and  _ no _ modesty in the showers afterward.  You’d think a guy who wanted to pass as alpha would keep it under lock and key- but maybe that was the point.  Always on a dare, always pushing for someone to catch up-

Always showing off his skin, sun-gilded compared to those who hadn’t just come from sunny California.  His body. That filthy grin, tongue flickering, and  _ God _ , before things had gone totally south and those eyes had turned  _ crazy _ , flashing bright through a cloud of smoke....

Yeah- those bright eyes, gone soft, or gone  _ challenging _ .  Curly blonde hair spilling over the cushions, over the arm behind his head- Billy smirking up at him, confident as ever, but oh- turning and curling up, purring, rubbing his face against the fabric.  Touching it.  Touching  _ himself _ .

Steve’s eyes snap open, his breath rattling, his face hot.

_ Fuck. _

 

_ Also, what in the  _ hell _? _

His heart’s racing, even though he  _ also  _ feels as if someone doused him with a bucket of ice water.  He drops the thought of Billy  _ nesting _ as if it had burned him, which, in a way, it has.  But at the same time, he can’t make it go away any more than he could push an air-filled balloon under water- it just keeps popping up, and even as his mind is pushing, his body seems to have decided it’s all about  _ pulling _ , with a sudden heat curling low in his belly like a firebrand.

His mouth goes dry as a desert and he stares at the pristine white bedding as if it held all the answers.

_ Oh god. I am an idiot. _

He should have realized this was a possibility the moment he had started thinking about how he was able to calm Billy because they “clicked” biologically.  At the latest, when Nurse Bernadotto suggested he become a scent donor and then joked about his thoughts not being  _ too  _ happy, that should have been a HUGE red flag.

_ It’s just  _ biology _ , but… it goes BOTH ways. _

But no, he’s an idiot, and since up ‘til now, he’d only ever fallen for  _ girl  _ omegas, the thought hadn’t even occurred to him.  Even though, looking back, it  _ should  _ have.

He really  _ is _ an idiot.

And now he’s stuck with the knowledge, can’t  _ unsee  _ it any less than one can unsee of those puzzle pictures once you’ve figured them out.  You always can see both, after, duck and hare, old and young woman, even though  _ nothing  _ about the lines of the picture has changed.

After the incident at the Byers, his thoughts about Hargrove mainly centered on being ready to make sure the guy stayed away from the kids, if need be with the help of his baseball bat. 

Now, the first thing that comes to mind is how it would feel to run his fingers through that tousled golden hair, what sounds the omega would make.

_ Would he purr at my touch? _

God help him, he really has a major case of the hots for Billy. Fucking. Hargrove.

The minutes tick by and he doesn’t know how long he’s supposed to stay in here, but he hopes to God it’s long enough to get the red out of his face, find the- ahem- decorum he needs in order to be presentable.  He turns over, curling on his side, and covers his face, trying to think nice, cool thoughts.

_ Ice.  Snow. A refreshing run stark naked through both.  Nuns… _

Don’t think about that medal dangling between Billy’s pecs.  Don’t-

“Goddamnit,” Steve mutters to himself, scrubbing at his face, trying desperately to ignore the insistent ache of his own growing desire.

It’s going to be an interesting wake-up for Billy, he guesses.   _ I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t sue for sexual harassment at this rate. _

The minutes tick by, both oddly too slow and too fast, and well, it turns out that Steve does have time enough to keep pretending to be huffy and protective, while avoiding embarrassing himself.  

When Nurse Bernadotto gives a sharp rap at the door, he’s almost fallen asleep and the sound cuts through the stupor, together with the news that they’ll be needing the room in five and that this is his warning to get up and make himself presentable.  

Steve shivers as his feet hit the linoleum, hopping quickly over to retrieve his clothing from the little locker and slipping into the bathroom to change.

If they need the room, that means Billy came through the surgery okay… 


	6. Chapter 6

Billy comes to, his throat achy and full of saliva.  He coughs and gasps a bit, even as a stranger pats his shoulders, muttering encouragement and telling him to just breathe.

Everything feels like it’s wrapped in cotton, voices dim and hard to understand, the only things sharp and clear is the stinging scent of disinfectant and the needling pain in his chest.   He feebly tries to move, to _get away_ , but a firm hand presses his arm down, making his heart jump, only to unsteadily settle as the same voice keeps up the calm words.

The hand shifts to his shoulder, holds him down, and it’s _unpleasant_ , but it’s not hurting him.  It’s a bit like standing at the quay of a harbour, everything shrouded by a dense fog- and there’s a gigantic dark shape approaching, slowly condensing until the nightmare monster slowly becomes a docking freighter.

_...s’rgery….ribs br’k’n...._

He blinks his eyes open, only to close them again to shield himself from the bright light and the blurry shapes slipping and melting around him, the sight of it making his innards dance in a way that is… not good.

The stretcher beyond him starts moving, and for a moment, it’s like he's a kid again, tired and exhausted, falling asleep in the car, little bumps and shimmies and faint talking in the background.

_'s mom....'n Neil....w’nder wh’en they’ll st’rt f’ght’ng…._  
_  
_ Next time his eyes flutter open for a moment is when there’s a pull on the linen beneath him and there’s someone going _“On three. One. Two.”_ and then the ground beneath him tilts and he slips, his breath coming in a small shocked gasp, but it’s over almost as soon as it started and…

 …..and….

 Cinnamon.

 Burnt amber.

 Leather.

The _sound_ he makes is not quite human, weakly turning his head, until he manages to pretty much bury his nose in the pillow. He takes deep, slow breaths, drinking it in as a wino tipping down a bottle of fine booze, while his arms and hands are busy remembering how to move- just so he can grasp the blankets, pull them tighter, holding onto them like a little kid to its’ mother’s shirttails during a doctor’s visit.

 

**\----**

 

Steve isn’t witness to the transfer, they do that somewhere well away from this little room- but he gets to sit and grip at his knees, waiting patiently (is there some kind of a pun in there?  Patient, because that’s what you have to be?), until the rolling sound out in the hall perks him up. He watches the door, hoping to catch the first sight of things, and then suddenly it’s all happening, and he makes himself stay in his chair, out of the way.  The orderlies roll the bed back into the room, settle it into place, and then-

 There’s Billy.

Pale, black-eyed, out of it and whimpering softly like a hurt puppy, but here he is.  Broad shoulders laid back against the pillow, face turning toward the industrial cloth like he’s rooting for something.  His hands flex against the covers, and Steve has to shake his head and turn to Nurse Bernadotto, asking her to please repeat.

 “I’m sorry, what was that?”

 She smiles down at Steve, and then nods towards Billy with the air of a baker whose dough has risen well.

 “They stabilized the ribs with titanium plates.  Lungs are well ventilated again. He’s still a bit woozy, but he should be okay.”

 Then, calmly, she bustles about the bed, placing a piece of medical equipment into a holder at the side, the tube emerging from it disappearing underneath the blankets, and hooks an i.v. bag up to a drip stand on the other side, the tube from that snaking underneath the covers too.

 “We got him set up with some pain meds so he’s comfortable. The pump for his chest will have to stay for a few days until his lung’s settled, and then we can take the tube out.”

 Her gaze goes back to Steve, one eyebrow raised.

 “You did well, for a first-timer.  Often, post-op patients will hesitate to breathe in deeply, because even with pain-meds, it can be unpleasant.  But he’s doing _very_ well.  Should go a long way to prevent pneumonia.  You should sign up with our volunteer program.”

 “Uh- thanks.  Thanks?” Steve says, uncertain how to take a compliment to his scenting abilities.  Or how to tackle the idea of doing it again, for a stranger.

 “As long as it’s helping him.  I knew they did this for babies, I just never realized it was that important for- for grown kids.”

 “Mm.  Scent is important for everyone, son.  Touch too. They’re only now starting to really study the effects in labs, on a chemical level- but it’s far more than just ‘what everybody knows.’”

 And after that, the nurse leaves and it’s just- waiting for Billy to wake up.  Steve figures Hopper will come by when it’s time to take whatever next steps there are, and in the meanwhile- he’s sitting vigil, waiting for his charge to be fully with it as the anesthesia wears off.

 Nurse Bernadotto reassured him his scent alone was helping, but maybe...  
  
 He reaches for that one clear spot on the omega’s wrist he held on to earlier, curling his fingers around it with a care for the bruises on either edge.  
  
“Hey.  Sleep it off, as long as you need.  I’m here.”

Billy sighs, softly, shudderingly.

 It takes a while, but the drugs that were used during surgery to make him sleep slowly wear off and with that the world swims back into focus, bit by bit, the warmth of skin on skin at his arm tugging at him like a string might at a puppet.

  _Harrington.  Figures. Stupid goody two-shoes, with his stupid hair and his stupid you’re-all-beneath-me attitude._

 Eyes shut tight, he takes another breath, deep, _need to do that, don’t want to catch pneumonia,_ and the intense scent of alpha that makes him want to roll around the bed like a cat in a patch of catnip _certainly_ has nothing to do with it.

 Everything aches with the kind of dull pressure that tells him it’s only the meds keeping pain at bay and they won’t give those to him forever, they’ll start phasing them out as soon as possible, don’t want him to develop _an addiction_.

 Taking another deep breath, he turns on his side, ignores the faint pull of the tube in his chest on the other, and leans into the pillow to catch another bit of that scent, drawn to it like a moth to a flame.  Curls up a little, slides his bandaged fingers on top of Steve’s hand where it’s touching his arm. Ignores it when the alpha jumps slightly at the touch, only to settle again, not pulling away.

_Talking about addictions….. fuck…. you…. Harrington..._

 The thought should carry heat like hell carries fire and brimstone, but it’s more like a dying candle in a strong wind, flickering as he takes another deep breath, hugging the warm scent to himself like a blanket.

 It makes his chest _ache_ and yet _he can’t stop_.

 Steve’s always smelled good to him, the mellow tanin of leather mingling with the soft smokiness of burnt amber, rounded out by cinnamon sweetness, _kind of_ _like high mass on Christmas night._

 He’d felt that scent pull at him, right from the first moment tall-dark-and-handsome looked at him over the rim of his shades, before he took them off, “... _didn’t the boys tell you I’m taken?”_ and the sharp but brief pang of disappointment hit him completely out of the left field, together with _how could he tell, no one else here did_ and Harrington just turned his back on him and _left_ while he’d been still standing there, feet glued to the ground and feeling like he got the air knocked out of him.

 So what, if after that, he maybe used any excuse he could get, _before_ , to get close, sneak a whiff, like a homeless kid sniffing glue- not caring about how he’d pay the price later for that brief bit of euphoria.

 It’s not like it meant anything.  Hooking up with an alpha was like asking fate to tie an albatross around your neck and laugh as the weight of it dragged you down.  _Might just as well cut to the chase and throw myself off a bridge right away.  No thanks._

 And _after_ , getting close like that hadn’t been an option anyway anymore.  _Still don’t know what kind of strange shit they were up to in that house._

 Max had been alright though, more pissed at him than usual, _mighty pissed, an alpha really asserting dominance for the first time_ and _very much less so_ at the others.  So whatever it had been, she was okay. 

 He’d watched Harrington’s bruises fade and kept his distance, blown his meager savings on booze and cigarettes instead.  Some shit was better left un-stirred.

Steve watches as Billy turns carefully over, about to reach out a useless hand to try and stop him- but moving doesn’t seem to hurt Billy any, and the touch of his fingertips on the back of Steve’s hand is as startling as it is encouraging.

 “Hey- hey… looks like you got through okay.  I’m just gonna- stay here, alright? Said I would…”

 Billy slowly opens his eyes and squints at him, like he’d be glaring if only he could summon enough energy. If the situation weren't so dire, it'd be cute. It could almost make Steve smile.

 “The nurse said you did really good.  So… there’s that going. Uh…”

 “...spare… me…”

 Harrington straightens up, looks stricken, the gentle concern in his eyes crumbling away, and Billy closes his eyes again, because he just can’t watch that.

 He doesn’t let go of Steve’s hand either though.  He _should_ .  He _really_ should.

 This whole… this whole playing around, like little kids, pretending like things will be okay, _nothing to see here, just and alpha tending to an omega_ , as if….. as if they were _together_ , as if they had a _bond…_ as if things between them weren’t fucked up beyond mending.

  _As if it wouldn't all end in tears if I believed._

 It’s like being a kid all over again, walking past the window of the toy store each day on the way home from school, sometimes furtively stopping to press your nose up against the window, get a good look at the shiny blue bike sitting right at the front.

 Watching your mom put dollars into the cookie jar high up on the shelf as she gives you a smile and a wink, knowing it’s your birthday soon.

 But your birthday rolls around, the window is empty and you see that dick Matthew Connelly from 3rd grade riding around on the blue bike, the cookie jar is broken and your mother is on her knees, sweeping up the shards, her smile to you wavering as she clings to making you promises both of you know she won’t be able to keep.

 Harrington's shoulders are stiff, the warmth in his voice lost.

“Well.  Good to see you’re still you, Hargrove,” he says, but he doesn’t shake off Billy’s hand. It doesn't seem right.

_Figure it’s a bit like handling a feral animal, try not to take the snapping and biting personally. Hell, if Billy were an injured skunk, Dustin would adopt him in a heartbeat._  
  
He sighs, his thin-worn patience shining through loud and clear, and settles back down.

 “I don’t know when Hop will be by with your sister, so for now it’s just you and me.  Try not to get too excited.”  
  
The only response it gets him is a small tick in Billy's jaw.  
  
It looks quiet, but isn't.

It's like waking up a day after a funeral and starting to remember.

  _Oh god…..Max._

 The hard _thwack_ as the stick came down on her, the way her body jerked, the _sound_ she made….

 And now she _knows_ , and now Neil no longer has a reason to hold back once the dust has settled… it’s not like he doesn’t know how the game is played.

 CPS gets involved, she gets to feel _safe_ for a while- Neil posts bail, wins Susan back with a load of bullshit, _about how it was an accident, about how Max got in the way, about how it was all my fault_.  And then there’s a hearing, Susan siding with Neil, Neil making more bullshit promises, playing the victim, and they get custody back for both of them...

 They’ll move again, and then Neil _makes sure_ Max will _know better_ than to run to the police, next time.

 The wheeze that Billy makes is alarming.

 “Hey- hey, it’s gonna be-” Steve is saying, at the other end of the universe.

  _I should have done it,_ Billy thinks, trying to catch his breath, get back in the deep rhythm without _panicking_ .  _I thought I was gonna have to kill him.  I thought he was gonna kill_ me.  _He’d have gone to_ jail _for that, and that would’ve…_

  _Kept them safe._

 Oh, fuck.  Oh fuck oh fuck- how does it come down to this?  Weighing his life against those of people he kind of hates, most of the time?

 “S’- not gonna- work.  He’ll- get us right back.  Back to the start…”

 And it’s been always there, at the back of his mind, but now, it just rolls over him.  The image of Neil laying into Max, _really_ laying into her, her body so small next to his, and Susan standing to the side, wringing her hands, asking him to _stop, please stop, she didn’t mean to._ Neil casually laying her out with his fists to get her to shut up, Max screaming, begging him to _please don’t hurt my mom_ and his stomach roils to the point where he thinks he might puke-  
  
It drags him under like the tide.  There’s things you can live with and things you can’t, and it’s not like he’s worth much anyway.  It just looms large on the horizon like the shadow of an evil giant and he shrinks from it, simply because _he’s not ready yet_ , curling around Steve’s hand, just trying to hold on a little longer, eyes burning, pressure building and his throat feeling like it’s being shredded from the inside, just trying to keep it in.

-And Steve can stay mad, but he can’t stay mad through that.  Billy’s freaking out, lost in his own head, breathing like he’s trying not to cry, trying not to be sick.

 “Billy- Billy, come on, it’s gonna be okay- he’s in jail, he can’t get in here-”  He’s afraid of Neil Hargrove, and why wouldn’t he be? The older man had just almost _killed him_ , but he’s not here- he’s not _going_ to be here, and there’s at least a couple people who will gladly stand in the way and possibly kill or die before they let him get close.

 “Billy, Billy, come on… come on, breathe for me.  You can do that. Jesus Christ. Biiiilly, come on, Billy… that’s it, Hargrove, come back to me here… if you freak out on me, I have to explain to Bernadotto, and I’m _not_ doing that.  Come on…”

 And there’s a laugh tearing itself from Billy’s throat, because _no Harrington, things are SO NOT going to be o.k._ But then, Harrington is a sheltered, pampered rich kid who’d never understand, whose biggest worry is his exorbitant allowance getting cut if he messes up, or… or nurse Bernadotto getting grumpy with him, and it just… it just _cracks him right up_ , it’s so _funny_ , and he laughs again, and again, and then suddenly it’s just great, gulping sobs tearing out of his chest and the taste of salt on his lips.  The pillow beneath his head getting wet, his hand hurting like it’s getting cut up all over again as it tightens around Steve’s, but he can’t let go despite this, no more than a drowning man could let go of a floating branch in the ocean.

 “Jesus, what are you _on_ ,” Steve mutters, but he leans over, gripping right back despite feeling the faint warmth of what might be new blood against his palm.  Billy’s a fucking mess, and all he can do is just- try to be here for him.

 The sobbing is new and horrifying.  He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hargrove cry, all hard and hot-tempered, like the tears had been burnt right out of him.

 “Come on- Billy, come on, maybe we aren’t friends, but I’m not gonna- no one here is gonna let that happen, okay?  I’ve faced down worse things than your dad, trust me, he hasn’t got _nearly_ enough teeth to scare me-” he’s babbling, trying to run a hand down the line of Billy’s arm without hitting bruises and abjectly failing.  Billy’s gone quiet, but the shaking still goes through every line of him, and quiet hysterics are still hysterics, he knows this far too well.

  _I guess I’ve got another kid, whether I like it or not.  Whether or not he’s an actual kid._

 Time’s funny when things get like this. It’s like a rubber band, stretching long and longer, only to snap back to the present in a heartbeat.

 At some point, Billy starts to go still.  Steve’s not quite sure how, but his fingers have ended up tangled in Billy’s hair, the palm of his hand resting against the Billy’s cheek as the omega wearily leans into the touch.

 There’s still a sour tang of distress in the air, layered with a touch of something musty and bitter that Steve only recognizes from nightmares, both sleeping and waking, but the washed out scent of exhaustion is rolling in like autumn rain, cool and cleansing in its’ own way.  
  
And then… then Billy withdraws.  Eyes still closed, he slowly shifts until he’s lying on his back again, wincing all the way.  Lets go of Steve’s hand and pulls his arm away. Takes a deep, slow breath, that comes out as a tired sigh.

 “Gonna owe you another one for that, Harrington, but do you think you can find my medallion?  ‘S kinda important.”

 “...I can do that.  I’ll ask at the nurse’s station, see who has it, there’s gotta be a protocol or something.”  Steve feels a little tired too, after his heart about jumping out of his chest in response to all that distress pouring off of Billy- but it’s settling now, he’s settling.  It feels like the worst might have passed.

 “And I wasn’t kidding.  If it makes you feel better, I’ll sit here with my bat.  No one’s fucking touching you again.”

Nurses’ station, ask for Bernadotto, or just if someone knows where it is.  Probably it’s something that means a lot to him, and Steve can ask after Billy's rings too at the same time.

 He is not fucking afraid of Neil Hargrove.  He’s just ashamed he has to breathe the same air.


	7. Chapter 7

It’s almost midnight when Max and Chief Hopper arrive at the hospital. Max knows she should be tired, but she’s buzzing with a nervous kind of energy that she last felt when her mom told her she was getting a divorce.  She knows from experience she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not yet.

Hopper chats up the elderly guy manning the central information desk at this late hour while Max fidgets beside him and shortly after, the two of them find themselves directed to the ward where they put Billy.

There’s nobody manning the nurses’ station when they get there, but Hopper points at a light burning above one of the patients’ rooms and indeed, after a few minutes, a male nurse bearing a bed-pan shuffles from the room and comes to greet them.   
  
Getting an update about how Billy’s doing, told in a quiet, calm tone that still doesn't sugar-coat the damage, makes Max breathe easier even as her knees feel weak as water.  She’d spent the whole drive wondering if maybe, it just had seemed worse than it was. Maybe she was just a sissy and it hadn’t really been that bad?

_ It was worse.  It was fucking worse and Neil almost KILLED him. _

The nurse tells them which room it is, and Max’s hand shakes as she knocks quietly on the door.  There’s a soft “come in”,  _ Steve’s voice _ , and they quietly slip inside. 

The young alpha is sitting in a chair, right up close beside the bed, a cheap fantasy novel in his hand and a cup of coffee on the night-stand beside him.  There’s a bat with a ton of nails leaning against the chair and his eyes look bruised with lack of sleep and too much excitement for one day.

Billy’s in the bed, looking way beyond pale in the dim night-light illuminating the room, his pallor a stark contrast with the almost-black bruises marring his face.

“Hey…”  Steve looks up at them, the weariness on his face softened by the beginnings of a smile.  “He’s asleep, I think.  He got through, he’s got some new hardware.  I think he’s gonna be glad to see you Max...”  He sets the book down, the cover decorated with a group of adventurers that included a goggle-eyed dragon and a green-scaled demon that looks to be pontificating to the rest.

“I think he was really scared for you.  You okay?” 

Max nods, lips tight, holding it together.

“Can...can I sit with him? For a while?”

Steve’s smile lights up a little more, the expression at odds with the hardness lurking in his eyes that she hasn’t seen since he agreed to go down into the tunnels with them.

“Sure kid. Hop and I will be waiting outside. There’s a little sitting nook for family near the nurses’ station. Find us there when you’re done.”

He gets up, nods at Hopper, noting the shared tired circles everyone in the room seems to have.   _ I’ll ask  _ you _ about Hargrove the elder once we’re out of earshot... _

The two older alphas leave, the door closing behind them with a firm click as Max settles into the still-warm chair Steve just vacated.

For a few heartbeats, she just sits there, taking it all in, and really, it doesn’t get better the longer she stares.  There’s still  _ blood  _ crusted in a few strands of Billy’s blond hair, so thick, it almost looks black.  Just looking at it makes her eyes sting,  _ he’s always so vain about his looks and the stuff looks like the worst hair-gel ever,  _ and she shifts uncomfortably, her hands moving from her knees to the armrests and back, like a lost puppy looking for its’ mother.

After a while, a faint growl breaks the restless near-silence, making her jump.

“Dammnit,  _ Max…  _ can’t you just  _ sit still  _ for a minute?”  His voice is unusually quiet and raspy, but the cranky impatience, that’s him all the way.

“Sorry,” she says, smiling despite the ache in her stomach, a lot less sorry than she says.  God, it’s  _ good  _ to hear her brother’s obnoxious voice again.

“I’m just- so glad you’re okay,” she says, voice cracking as she rubs at her eyes.  “God, you look awful.”

“Don’t make me laugh, it hurts,” Billy grunts, cracking open an eye just so he can glower at her, and she almost has to giggle, biting her lip.  

“Well now I have to break out the jokes.  You  _ ass _ .  I was so scared…”

He’s staring up at the ceiling as if asking the sweet Lord for patience, but there’s a grin curving his mouth, split lip and all.

“For cryin’ out loud, Max,  _ mercy _ !  I’m already in stitches.”

She bursts out in a surprised giggle, quickly shuts it down, one hand covering her mouth, then glares at him almost accusingly.

“Bad puns?   _ Really? _ ”

If possible, his grin grows even wider.

“Worked, didn’t it?”

“Yeah…”

Max relents, gives him a smile that twitches up her mouth even as she’s shaking her head.

“I’m just- I’m really glad you’re okay.  That you’re going to be.” 

“Max…”

“I didn’t know.  I swear I didn’t know.  I just- he was only being scary with you, but I didn’t think ‘scary’ meant-  _ hurting  _ you like that.  I didn’t think he was using me as an excuse-”   
  
“ _ Max. _ ”

She looks up, into his tired blue eyes, the ragged crust of blood around his lips and nose.  He’s reaching out with a cautious hand, bandage-wrapped, in a move that would have had her flinching a few months ago.  Before that night with the bat, her first (and hopefully least terrifying) adventure with the Party. 

She leans closer carefully, lays her joined hands down on he mattress near him. His hand comes to rest on top of them and he smiles at her, that charming-slick one he does to the teachers and the people who it’ll work on.  It’s never really worked on her, not since the first few weeks Neil and her mom had been seriously dating.

“Maxine.  Got something I need to give you.  Okay?”

“-okay.”

He lifts the other hand a little, opens it to reveal the little bit of bright silver chain with the Holy Mary medallion that usually hangs around his neck.  Fiddles around with it, fine motor skills hampered by bandages, until he’s got it open.

“Can you lean in a bit more? ‘m not so good with the movin’ around right now.”

“Billy…”   
  
“It’s for protection, ‘kay?  Got it from my mom, and now I’m givin’ it to you.”

She still eyes it skeptically.  She’s never ever seen him without it, has watched him sit on the porch, smoking and staring out into the road in the mornings after she’d heard the muffled sound of Neil shouting at him the night before, his fingers touching it as he pulled on his cigarette, the orange glow of it lighting up his face in the semi-dark. 

“Billy....”

“Keep it under your clothes, don’t let Neil see it.  It’d just make him mad. But when… if… IF you go back to him, you hide it somewhere safe, okay?  Where he won’t find it.”

It takes her a moment, but she nods sharply, once, leans in and lets him fasten it around her neck.

He lets go, dropping back into the cushions, watches her as she arranges it under her shirt, pulls some strands of her beautiful red hair out that have gotten a little tangled with it.  Holds it fast.

His mom was blonde, but she kept hers long like that too.  And sometimes, when he was small, she’d smile and it’d light up her whole face.  Max still smiles like that. 

_ And I don’t want her to stop.  So….mom _ , _ if you can hear me up there… pretty certain it would have been two graves at some point and not just one if you hadn’t asked the Virgin Mary to hold her hand over me.  Pretty sure I’d have never made it this far. But… she needs this more than I do. And she deserves to have a happy life, as untainted by this shit as possible, so please… if you’re watching….. _

Max is smiling at him, a bit wobbly, a bit uncertain, but the light hasn’t gone out of her eyes. Unlike him, she still shines bright with it, and it… it just makes his chest hurt.  But not in a bad way. And that’s as good as he’s ever gonna get and it’s time to make his peace with that.

“Listen, Max.   _ It.  Wasn’t.  Your. Fault.  _  You’re a  _ kid _ .  You had  _ no business _ knowing.  Also? Pretty sure that if you  _ had  _ known, Neil would have used it as another way to turn it against us.”

“I’m not going back to him,” Max declares, firm as her grip on the delicate pendant.  The light’s still in her, but her determination is a brick wall. Good kid. 

_ If she doesn’t get stupid, she’ll be okay. _

She ducks her head, briefly, comes back up, eyes gone all serious, a faint, bitter note like burnt coffee weaving into her scent. 

“Another thing- I’ll never hit you.  I’m sorry I tried to. But you scared me back then.”

There’s a short silence, Billy tilting his head back, looking thoughtful.  Then he turns over onto the side again, slowly, wincing once or twice, but in the end, he’s facing his sister once more, giving her the kind narrow-eyed attention a CEO might give a promising but untried branch manager.

“ _ Listen _ Max,” he says again.  “First off, ‘s good that you don’t want to, but whether you go back to him or not- really isn’t up to you.  That’s something CPS decides, and the wheels of that particular machine don’t grind as well as they should. You run away, you’ll end up on the streets turning tricks before you know it.  The streets eat pretty things like you  _ raw _ .

“So if you get sent back, you keep your head low.  You tell him whatever lies he wants to hear from you, you play meek and you play your cards so tight to your chest, you couldn’t fit the flat side of a ruler between ‘em.  Because an omega in the house is something to be subdued. Another alpha? That’s  _ competition _ .”

He stretches a bit, reaches out, grasps one of her hands, still resting at the edge of his bed, squeezes it gently.

“An’ Max… something threatens you or yours, and you think you have a chance, you hit it with all you got to make it back off.  And then you either run hell for leather to safety, or you  _ keep _ hitting it, to make sure it don’t get back up again, understand?”

The things he’s saying- another place and another time, the harsh notes of  _ this is what’ll happen to you, _ their shape would have read as a red flag, a thinly veiled threat. But he’s not saying them like that.  This is Billy trying to warn her- and without his bravado, it comes out a lot sharper and clearer, his eyes boring into her without hate, just fervor.

She squeezes back, trying to be careful- he doesn’t even wince, and she’s sure she’s hurt him at least some.

“I promise.  Billy-”

“I mean it.   _ Don’t give him a reason. _  Maybe it feels good to push back, but it doesn’t feel good for long.”  The white is there all around his eyes, only in one of them there’s a red stain on the edge.  “Don’t let anyone else push you around, but you  _ don’t.  Piss off.  Neil. _ ”

“I  _ promise _ ,” Max says again, and it’s the strangest echo of all the times he’s snapped at her, the couple of times he’d grabbed her wrist to emphasize his point, yelled to make her take the blame- all their fights, run through a warped fun-house mirror into something that could almost pass for them trying to take care of each other.  Like brothers and sisters should.

“Good.  Good girl,” he sighs, maybe the first time she’s ever heard that from him.

She still won’t let go of his hand.  It’s so much colder than usual.

He sags back into the pillow and the blankets again, the harsh intensity from moments ago bleeding out of him like air out of a balloon and closes his eyes, but still keeps holding on to her hand, the slight pressure letting her know that he’s still awake.

There’s a smallness to him, a fragility she would never have thought he could have, now that he’s no longer running on the sheer force of anger and spite.

_ “Fear is the path to the dark side.  Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate.” _

She really loves Star Wars, loved it when her dad took her to see the movies when they came out.  Doing cartwheels on the sidewalk to pass the time as they waited in the long line that went halfway around the block, her dad laughing and cheering her on.

But she’d never have thought it’d hit so close to home.  Never thought a silly quote from a movie could ring so true.

_ “Something threatens you… you hit it with all you got to make it back off.”  _

_ Fuck. _

The way Billy had  _ laughed,  _ nose bloody, taunted Steve and then almost  _ killed him. _

_ “My thirteen year old sister goes missing, and then I find her with you.” _

_ “Stay away from her.” _

_ “You’re late.” _

_ Oh God. _

It makes her feel sick to the pit of her stomach and she has to focus so her hand doesn’t start shaking, has to take a moment to calm herself lest she really stink up the room with it.

“You tried to protect me.”  It comes out quiet. It feels like it should be a flung accusation, with plenty of dripping  _ well great job you did _ and the angry well of  _ did you have to be such a prick about it _ behind it.  But she can’t, not with Billy laying there.

_ He really did try to protect me. _  And how could he learn to do it nicely, when all he’d ever had to learn from was Neil?

“Tried.  Sure. Bang-up job,” Billy sighs.  “Don’t get me wrong, you were a li’l shit plenty of times.  B’t I gotta look out for what you don’t know, huh?”

He’s looking even more tired, and Max thumbs at the medal around her neck, resting on her chest.

“Jus’ don’t be fuckin’ stupid, okay?  Y’know where the tiger traps are, now.  Don’t step in ’em.”

Her hand is so gentle in his, and he can scent her distress at seeing him like this, faint as it is with her trying to clamp down on it, and it’s just all kinds of messed up, after everything. 

There’s memories of her bubbling up, of her looking up at him, mouth trembling and smelling of fear and yet eyes shining with defiance, _if I can just scare her enough to toe the line, she’s not taking this seriously,_ and _damn stupid little bitch, she's  going to get me in trouble again._ It settles heavy on his shoulders, the kind of resignation when you realize you’ve been running from things too long and now it’s all gone to shit, and all that’s left is trying to sweep up the broken mess that got left behind.

“Also, I’m not that good a person Max.  Lots of it was me trying to save my own skin, preferably without giving you somethin’ you could use to turn the tables on me.”

“So maybe you were an asshole about it.  But you didn’t deserve that. No one does,” Max says quietly, but with determination. “Just- promise me you’re gonna get better.  I don’t wanna be alone in that house.”

And what can he say to that, really?

“‘M gonna try.  Docs said I had a good shot.  If, ah… if the Chief wants to talk to me, I’m here all week,” he says, and her mouth twitches up again at the feeble joke.

“You’d better make sure you get well. Hopper’s taking me to stay with Mrs. Byers for now. Apparently she’s certified by CPS to take in kids short term.“   
  
“Susan’s not going to like that much.”

Her face darkens. 

“Did… did my mom know?”

“Not all of it.  Not the worst. But some.”

Max inhales, shakily.   
  
“I… I love my mom.  But I really hated how easily she let Neil take over our lives.  Move us here.”

“You’re an alpha, Max.  And a teenager. Your mom’s an  _ omega _ .  And  _ mated _ .  I know it’s hard to understand if you haven’t felt that pull yourself, and you never will, but it’s in an omega’s nature to be inclined bend to an alpha’s will, especially if it’s their  _ mate _ .”

“Not you though.”

“Yeah, me too.  I just work a little harder than most at not letting it get to me.  It’s an inclination, not a death sentence.”

She nods, slowly.  “I… can see that.”

There’s a pause, filled with the kind of quiet you get after finishing your homework assignments, and it stretches out between them, weary but done.   
  
After a while, Max gently squeezes Billy’s hands, just enough to get his attention, for he seems ready to doze off again, and there’s one last thing she needs to say before she goes.

“You’re terrible at taking your own advice, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“Seems to me you pissed off Neil plenty back there.  So he went after you again, and let go of me.”

“...that was different.  He was already gonna kill me.  You? You still had a shot,” Billy says softly. “Don’t waste it, okay?”

How fucked up is that, she has to wonder.  Giving her a shot at- what,  _ surviving _ her step-dad’s household?

How is that even a choice she has to make?  A goal she has to  _ try _ for?

“I won’t waste it.”

Promise.

It doesn't take long, after that, for his breath to even out.

Max hadn't realized just how tense he still was until she sees his shoulders drooping, body sinking fully into the blankets.

She slowly gets up, sneaks out.

Tomorrow is Monday, and she's got work to do.  Re-arranging your whole life is no small task, especially on a school day.  Better catch some zzs.

 


End file.
